Journey to Eudaimonia

By Frederick Rovner

Bringing the ancient world to life for a modern audience, "Journey to Eudaimonia" is a compelling and vivid story like no other. Author Frederick Rovner chronicles the journey of a young Latin farmer, Marcus Latinius, from a prosperous family in Italy. Marcus comes to maturity just as the Second Punic War explodes in the Mediterranean. Hannibal has managed to invade Italy. Rome itself is threatened. It is a time in some ways not unlike our own. People born into the security and power of the Roman Republic following the defeat of Carthage in the First Punic War now find the structure of their lives undermined by forces they only dimly understand.

The author brings to life not just the remarkable events of this formative era in Western History but animates and colors-in the lives of the people who populated these events. We meet some of the most fascinating men and women who have ever lived; Hannibal Barca, Sophonisba, Masinissa, Scipio Africanus to name a few. In this, we discover they were not much different from people today. Faced with a changing world in which the familiar structures of their lives are crumbling and a new unfamiliar world emerging, some adapt and respond with resilience and courage. Others are destroyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350935066

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The Journey to Eudaimonia

©2023 Frederick Rovner

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 979-8-35093-505-9

eBook ISBN 979-8-35093-506-6

Contents

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

Book IV

BOOK V

Book VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

BOOK XI

BOOK XII

For Abby and Will

The Moirai spin, and we are clothed in the garment that fate

has made for us. "And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it,

neither brave men nor coward, I tell you – it’s born with us

the day of our birth." Homer, The Iliad.

Acknowledgements

No person is an island. I have been fortunate in my life to have encountered many remarkable teachers, mentors, and friends. Those things I am most proud of have been due mostly to the help and guidance I have received along the way. I would like to mention just a few here. My AP English Literature teacher, Mrs. Hall, at Taft High School in California who tolerated a barbarian like me but in so doing taught me the value of the written word. My Classical History professor at Humboldt Sate University in California, Dr. Oken, who took the time and had the patience to point me towards knowledge and understanding. Dr. Jo Jones, professor of Family Medicine at Georgia State University who would not tolerate intellectual laziness. Dr. Helmut Wolf, my boyhood mentor, who pointed to the heavens and told me, Look beyond yourself. He would not accept glib answers even from a teenager.

There are also those who humored me in this endeavor. These include Nora Long at Cornerstones; Emma Hopkins at the University of Georgia; Hazel Wilding of Vashon, Washington, a wise friend. They read all, or parts of this novel and provided thoughtful feedback. I am grateful for their wise, knowledgeable, and helpful advice.

Finally, but most importantly, Thyra, my wife; whose thoughtful suggestions, wise advice, and meticulous review were indispensable. She patiently listened, corrected, advised, and encouraged me. It would be fair to say that without her I could achieve nothing and this book would never have been written. She is my chief critic and loudest cheerleader.

FR 2023

Preface

The necessity of pursuing happiness is the foundation of liberty. So says the seventeenth century English philosopher John Locke. This is where the famous expression in the Declaration of Independence derives from. What Thomas Jefferson and Locke were referring to was Aristotle’s Eudaimonia or Good Spirit. By happiness, Aristotle did not mean pleasure or trivial luxury, but rather something more profound.

In Greek philosophical terms, Eudaimonia was the highest good a person could aspire to and achieve. The good that is the sum of all goods which allows for living well and a sufficient life. This Eudaimonia is achieved through virtue, arete to the Greeks, and acceptance of one’s fate. Eudaimonia cannot be found in wealth or power. It is the result and reward for living an honest, virtuous, and courageous life in accordance with reason.

Rationality and reason were the foundation of thought for Greek thinkers such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. For the Roman pragmatists rationality was useful. The foundation for reason can be found in the three cardinal maxims engraved on the pillars at the entrance to the great temple of Apollo at Delphi: 1) Know thyself, 2) Nothing in excess, and 3) Certainty brings madness.

BOOK I

"Nobody is mad enough to choose war whilst there is peace. During times of peace, sons bury their fathers, but in war,

it is the fathers who send their sons to the grave."

Herodotus, 430 BCE

Chapter 1

When I was a small child my mother, Cornelia Secunda, told me I came kicking and bawling into this world. She worried I would not survive. I came a month early and was a scrawny infant who did not go to her breast at first. What made matters worse was that she did not let down enough milk once I did latch on and a wet nurse had to be found. I am not embarrassed to admit that as the youngest of four children I was her favorite. She often recounted how, once I had determined to live, I grasped life in my tiny fists and held on to it tightly and grew quickly.

I was born during the first consulship of Quintus Fabius Maximus Varrucosus, seventy-one years ago. It was a time of peace in Latium and the gates of the temple of Janus in Rome remained closed for most of my childhood. I am the son of Lucius Latinius, who was always called Marinus due to his service as a centurion of marines in the first war with Carthage. This was long before I got to know him. When I came along our family lived on a farm in Latium where we grew wheat and some olives and ran a small flock of sheep. There was also a small orchard of figs my mother had planted. The land had been in the family for as long as anyone could remember. Unlike other farmers in our district, however, Father also owned two seagoing merchant ships and a warehouse at the port of Lavinium. This was in part due to his connections with the patrician clan Cornelii. One might say we were prosperous, with patrician connections. As a child I expected to be a farmer and to have some share, with my older brothers, in our family’s growing import and export business. Fate had other plans.

It has been a year since a dispatch rider from Tarraco arrived at the family villa in Saguntum. He carried a letter under military seal from the praetor in Tarraco. As is customary, he asked for a drink and something to eat. After drinking some wine mixed with water and eating a fig cake he indicated to the steward that he carried a letter that was to be placed only in the hands of the prefect. And so he was shown to the veranda that serves as my private study and office. This is what I read after breaking the seal:

"His Excellency, M. Latinius Martialis, Prefect, Martialis, it is with regret that it is my sad duty to inform you that your son, M. Latinius, first centurion of hastati, was killed in fighting against Celtiberian and Lusones forces at the Manilian Pass on 14 Lunius. All wounds were in the front.

T/S Q.F. Nobilitor, Praetor, Hispania Citerior, SPQR."

As I read this document slowly, not wanting to understand its meaning, the dispatch rider stood quietly with the same grim expression I had so often seen in soldiers. After a minute or so I placed the document on my writing table and looked up at the man. He was a young man of about thirty years, with short, dark brown hair and steady but sorrowful blue eyes. He was clearly tired, his leather cuirass and dispatch case dust covered from what had to have been a four-to-five-day ride. I asked, Does Nobilitor expect a reply?

"The praetor only requires a receipt that the prefect has received the dispatch."

I could see he wanted to say something so I said, You look tired. We will arrange for a fresh mount in the morning. Tonight you should bathe and eat a hot meal.

I turned to my assistant, who was hovering near the door to the veranda. Escort this man to the camp and inform the officer of the watch he is to attend to this man’s needs tonight and provide him with what he requires for his journey north in the morning.

I turned back to the rider. You are to rest tonight at the camp down the hill.

After placing my seal on a note that read, Received with gratitude, M. Latinius, prefect, I placed a silver denarius in the rider’s hand and thanked him for his promptness in attending to his duties. At this he took from the leather satchel slung at his side a funerary urn, placed it on the table, bowed his head slightly, and said, "This has not left my person since Tarraco. The praetor wishes you to know your son’s personal effects and equipment including his gladius were recovered and will be sent to you once transport can be arranged."

As he was about to leave, he turned to me somewhat hesitantly. May I presume on your grief, your honor?

I nodded and he continued. I knew your son, sir. He was a brave man and a good soldier. He enjoyed the respect of those with whom he served. It was my honor to have been considered his friend. I asked to be given this sad task and am honored to have been of some service to you, Martialis. I nodded at this and he turned without further comment and left with my assistant.

Once they left, I was alone on the veranda. As I recall, it was a warm evening with the sun setting beyond the mountains to the west and the sea to the east becoming dark in the gathering dusk. The early evening stars were just beginning to make their appearance. The letter and the ashes of my only son rested on the table in front of me. Tears began to well up in my eyes. My thoughts began to wander back to happier times and memories of Marcus as a boy and young man. How proud his mother, Similice, had been of this fine fellow when he first wore the toga virilis on his fourteenth birthday and how she had fussed over his bride, Cassia, at their wedding. What a striking figure he was when I helped him with the panoply of a centurion of the hastati of the Legio Hispanicus for the first time, only little more than a year earlier.

By the time this terrible news arrived, Similice had, nearly five years earlier, traveled on to whatever awaits us when we pass out of this mortal life. I was grateful Similice had not lived to know of our son’s death. However, I also knew without her wise counsel and loving touch his death would be very hard on me. And so I stood for some time with memories flooding into my mind and tears flowing from my eyes.

It occurred to me that even in my grief I had responsibilities. There was the matter of my son’s young family—his wife, Cassia, and their children, Lavinia and young Marcus. Although they had come to stay with me at the villa under my protection while Marcus was on campaign, they could not go back to the camp at Tarraco. They would have to stay with me in Saguntum. The education and upbringing of Lavinia, now fourteen, and Marcus, two years younger, would fall to me. Until now this had seemed only a temporary responsibility, just for one campaign season. The tutors I had hired to provide instruction during their stay in Saguntum would not suffice over the longer term that now loomed.

Their education now seemed all the more urgent. I had become aware of some deficits and insufficiencies in both children, but especially in young Marcus. They both were barely literate and remarkably unread. Although Lavinia had the advantage of having come under the influence of her mother, a fine and literate woman, Marcus had become somewhat defiant and prideful. His father, being of some rank, was often away with the army. This meant young Marcus had been allowed to run freely about the camp at Tarraco with some of the older boys, playing at soldiering and falling in with soldiers in the barracks, where he became acquainted with habits that would not serve him well.

The last time I saw my son was during Saturnalia, when he arrived by naval transport in Saguntum with Cassia and the children before returning to Tarraco to rejoin the army, still in winter quarters, before it moved against the rebels in the north.

Marcus had concerns about young Marcus. Father, it is my hope he will receive more attention here with you than I have been able to give him. He has expressed to me his excitement at staying with ‘the fearsome Martialis.’ The boy has bragged to all his playmates and most of the garrison that he will be a great soldier like his grandfather. He is most looking forward to the stables here and learning the skills of an equestrian. He is determined to be a cavalry officer.

I said, If this is so, has he been introduced to Xenophon? As I recall you took to Greek quickly once you became a companion to Xenophon.

He was taken aback by this comment. Greek? The boy can barely write his name in Latin. He seems convinced your rank will ensure his position and future. He is barely literate, dodges his lessons, and is often defiant of the pedagogues at Tarraco. I have tried beatings and restrictions with little effect.

I nodded and assured him there would be discipline here while the children were guests. I added, With Micipsa and his Numidians the stables may not be as much fun as he dreams. Micipsa will not tolerate foolishness or arrogance in the stables. You yourself know the diligence with which he guards and cares for the horses and mules. They are his children.

Marcus looked somewhat relieved so I continued. I will see tutors are found for them and I myself will oversee their education while they are here.

He was further relieved by this. As I looked at my son, I could see in him the gentleness and seriousness of his mother. Like her, he was tall and tan, with black hair and deep, fierce, brown eyes. He smiled weakly. Thank you, Father; this has been a burden. I fear I have handled things with these two badly.

My son, your first and only concern is attending to your duties and responsibilities on campaign. Your family is safe here in Saguntum. I give you my word as your father and as a man. I will care for Cassia and the children and treat them as my own for as long as you are away. Do not be in fear for them. As was our family habit he hugged me in an embrace and kissed my cheek. Some have seen this open and public affection as a peculiar thing, more Greek than Roman. But it was a custom on which Similice insisted.

Chapter 2

By the time I stood up the hour was quite late. My aide, Orisos, after returning from the camp had, unnoticed by me, been standing quietly near the entrance to the veranda for some time. He approached. Martialis, it is almost an hour past midnight. Perhaps you should retire and wait until morning to inform the household of this sad news.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded. Holding up a lamp, he led me to my bedroom, where I said, Orisos, you are to awake me at dawn but not to speak to anyone of this matter.

He bowed his head. Of course, sir, as you wish.

My sleep was fitful and filled with strange dreams. When Orisos woke me, I did not feel I had rested. I did not know it at the time, but this young man sat on the small bench just outside my room the rest of that night and kept watch should I need anything.

The next morning, I gave instruction that Cassia was to attend me on the veranda as soon as the children were at lessons and she had eaten and dressed for the day. I felt it best she should know before Lavinia and young Marcus. As is often the case with women, she seemed to know immediately something was amiss and declined to sit on the bench next to where I was seated looking out to the east and the sea beyond. It was a bright and warm early summer day with a soft onshore breeze that brought the fragrance of citron from the orchard and the crisp scent of the sea. She stood by the wall that bordered the veranda watching as I placed the letter from the night before in her hand.

As she read I could see her face crumble and her hands begin to shake. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sat down next to me with a suddenness that engulfed us both. She then just seemed to dissolve and leaned on my left shoulder, sobbing and trembling for some time. How can this be? He was such a strong man. You know how I loved him, so serious, always careful. How will I manage now? What will we do? What will become of Marcus and Lavinia? Martialis, I cannot, I just cannot go on alone. I am afraid.

I just held her against my left shoulder, not saying anything. Once she settled somewhat, I said, Cassia, you are not to be afraid. You and the children will live here and help me manage this estate and affairs here in Saguntum. I can use the help and you being here is a comfort.

At this she sat up and looked at me, placing a hand on my cheek and wiping away some tears that had formed. Thank you, Father. We will not be a burden.

I indicated to Orisos that the children were to come to the veranda.

Orisos said, Marcus is with Micipsa at the stables receiving riding lessons in the exercise yard. He will be summoned immediately. Lavinia has gone to the city with her tutor and might be some time before returning. A servant will be sent to fetch her.

About twenty minutes later Marcus arrived in some haste, still dusty and sweating a little. He looked a little put out at having his riding lesson interrupted, it being only the third time he had been allowed to mount since arriving. Up to a week or so earlier, Micipsa had him busy grooming the cavalry mounts and mucking out their stalls. Marcus bowed and then looked at Cassia, who was attempting to wipe away more tears as she started to stand. I can still recall how his somewhat impatient look changed to a look of concern and he asked, What is the matter, Mother? Is Lavinia well?

She choked out, Your father has been killed, and began to sob again.

The boy turned to me. Killed? How can this be? He’s with the army.

Cassia again collapsed on the bench next to me, sobbing quietly, and I again held her with my left arm. I looked up at Marcus. He has been killed in battle and will not be coming home.

At this Marcus crossed the three or four steps to his mother, stumbling as he fell at her feet and began to cry, shaking uncontrollably. He clung to her ankles as she rubbed his back. As I sat and watched their grief, I realized that, despite his big size for his age, he was only a child. A child whose entire world was now turned upon its head.

About two hours later Lavinia arrived and once told the news she too teared up and became quiet. But there was strength in her and although she sat with her mother and young Marcus, she seemed to hold on to some inner power and began to comfort the boy. She asked me what I knew of her father’s death.

No more than is in this letter. His kit will be sent from Tarraco. The courier who brought this news was your father’s friend and he told me he was respected by his fellow soldiers. No more can be asked of a man than he be respected.

I handed her the dispatch, which she read quietly, moving her mouth to form the words.

This is how my daughter-in-law and grandchildren came to live with me in my declining years, in this villa just south of the old Greek city of Saguntum in faraway Spain. Where the villa now stands there was only forest and paddocks when I first passed through Saguntum as a young soldier during the last war with Carthage. I did not imagine then that fate would make this my home for nearly fifty years.

Chapter 3

We observed the rites for the dead for nine days. On the tenth day Cassia, Lavinia, Marcus, and I led a procession down the hill below the villa to the cliff where the family tomb had been carved in the steep rock face that overlooked the beach and the sea beyond. I was gratified to see so many of the townsfolk and city elders along with most of the garrison from the camp and signifiers sounding their trumpets. There were as well Edetani notables, elders, the staff from the compound of Similice’s kinsmen, led by their chief, who was nephew to Similice and by marriage to me also. The entire staff of the villa, slaves, and hired hands also attended. Micipsa led a saddled but riderless horse, Marcus’ favorite, Rufus, in the procession. I realized for the first time just how many lives my son had touched and how he would be missed.

I am not one for long orations. My tendency is to be direct and plain in speech. On this occasion, however, I spoke of Marcus’ boyhood and how proud he had made me as a soldier, a man, a husband, and a father to my grandchildren. I am afraid I went on a little long, but I wanted to delay the closing of the tomb even if only for few minutes. Finally, when I felt enough had been said, I carried his ashes into the grotto of the tomb and placed them next to his mother’s. Strangely this calmed me and I felt better. They would now rest together.

The next day I had my grandson, Marcus, join me on the veranda. The period of mourning now over and the rites completed, he seemed to have settled. I was seated at my writing table with the shelves of my library crowded with document cases behind me up against the outer wall of the villa’s main house. On these shelves I also kept many of the things one collects in a life of travel and military service. Next to the table was also the wooden chest in which I kept my old armor and kit from my days as a soldier, centurion, and tribune of the legion known as Hispanicus but designated as Legio V.

Marcus bowed politely and managed a weak smile. Grandfather, you wanted to see me?

At this I stood and indicated the boy should open the chest next to the table. As he did so I said, You will find the sword of your father on top. It, along with some of his other possessions, arrived several days ago from Tarraco. It is in a scabbard with baldric sling. Take them out and hand them to me.

As he awkwardly handed them to me I said, "This sword, which we call a gladius, was given to your father on his first birthday. Well, more correctly, it was entrusted to me to keep for him until he grew into it. It was a gift from the consul of Rome, Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus."

I held the equipment up. Draw the blade from the scabbard.

This he did slowly.

You can see the blade is well made, clean, oiled, and well tended. Can you read what is engraved on the hilt?

Marcus looked. I have seen this before. It says, ‘ML son of MLM SPQR.’

To which I said, This was your father’s most prized possession. He took great care of it. He took great care of all that was his, including you and your sister.

Marcus nodded and looked at the sword. "Yes, Grandfather, I know this gladius. I have seen Father with it many times."

After a pause I took the sword from Marcus, replaced it in its scabbard, and continued. As I did for your father, I will now do for you. You know this instrument’s history but not its use. I will keep it for you until such time as you come of age and are trained in its use.

I put the sword back in the chest and closed it. I invited Marcus to sit with me in the chairs that sat looking out to the east. On the small table between us was a plate with some cheese, fresh figs, and grapes. There was also a pitcher of water and citron juice and cups for drinking. As he sat, I turned to Marcus. Your father was a brave and honorable man. I am proud he bore my name and to have been his father. You should remember him with pride.

I paused as he looked at me. You should not be in fear either. You, your mother, and Lavinia will be staying here with me. This is now your home.

Marcus relaxed and smiled as he nodded.

I then said, When the time comes you will take up responsibilities as head of this house.

At this he gasped and in a tiny and trembling voice said, I do not understand, Grandfather, you are well. You are the head of the family.

I realized perhaps it was too soon for such a talk, but the horse had been let out. I stood up, placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at the boy. Have no fear of this. I am well and have no plans to leave this life anytime soon. However, Marcus, the time will come, as it does for us all, and you will need to be ready.

As we sat we talked for some time about his father. I recalled some of my son’s more humorous misadventures as a boy. As we talked I realized Marcus was twelve, but I hardly knew him, having seen him only a few times since his birth. I could see his father in him. I also saw loneliness and fear in his manner. It would take some patience and a kind but firm hand to gain his trust.

Our conversation calmed the boy. He asked, Will I be able to continue with riding lessons, Grandfather?

I answered him by making a promise. Your equestrian work will continue so long as you make progress with your lessons and show respect for this estate and those who inhabit it.

He was a little surprised by this and asked what I meant.

I said, Micipsa tells me you do well with the horses and are well liked by the grooms and staff in the stable. He reports you are patient and gentle with the animals. He also says your touch seems to calm the horses and this is a rare gift. However, he also informs me there are times when your behavior has not been to his liking.

I could see tears welling up and a look of shame cross Marcus’ face. He replied, He is very strict and watches all the time. He is not like the soldiers at Tarraco. He even has me do the work slaves should do. I do not understand why. I have had to shovel dung and scrape down sweating animals, clean hooves, and polish bridles and saddles for months. I have then only been allowed to ride the older and gentler mares in the exercise yard. What have I done to anger the man? Is he not your servant? He is the stable manager, not the stable owner.

He realized he had overstepped and tried to change the topic. My lessons are fine, and Gaius says my reading has improved even if not as good as Lavinia’s. Shame was now replaced by defiance.

Marcus, when I was a boy on the family farm in Latium one of the tasks I was given was caring for the geese, the milk goats, and the chickens. I came to like these creatures and understood what they did to help provide for us. I especially liked the chickens. Have you ever watched a flock of chickens?

Now I knew when I said this that Marcus had been scolded several times about throwing stones at the birds that scratched around the barnyard and nested in the stables. He looked surprised by the question. They are chickens. What is there to see?

Here is my charge to you, Marcus. Over the next month or so instead of chasing the birds, see if you can gain their trust. Watch how the flock protects itself. Observe the hens and how they work together to raise their young and how the rooster stands guard. Then think how they serve us. When you have done this, we will talk again about your education and behavior.

He was surprised and a little amused at this.

I then said, As for Micipsa, he may be getting old, but you would do well to get to know him and the grooms and servants in the stable. He is perhaps the finest cavalryman I have ever known. He is a leader and led the fiercest of the Numidians in the war against Hannibal. Many of those ‘servants’ are his mates who rode with him into battles here in Spain and in Africa. I am not rebuking you, Marcus. My words are meant to awaken in you the young man I know to be inside you. Wisdom comes from knowledge and experience, not from birth or station. If you will trust me and those I find to instruct you, then you may well find wisdom, and with wisdom, happiness, no matter what fate has planned for you.

By the time we ended this discussion it was late afternoon. It was time for his evening lessons with Gaius, the Latin teacher. As Marcus got up to leave, I was unsure how he would react to my words. My thoughts were mixed. Either the goodness I knew was in him or his immaturity would animate his reaction. Time, patience, a firm hand, and consistency would be necessary to bring Marcus to maturity. His upbringing might well prove challenging.

BOOK II

"Do not trust all men, but trust men of worth;

the former course is silly, the latter a mark of prudence."

Democritus, 400 BCE

Chapter 1

While mourning the death of my son and recalling the events of his life, it occurred to me that I was now in my seventieth year. I carried in my mind not only Marcus’ spirit but also the spirits of all those who had accompanied me in this journey we call life. They, having done their time in Tartarus, were undoubtedly enjoying each other’s company in the Elysium Fields. I was the last and perhaps the least of the colleagues, friends, family, and even enemies who had been my traveling companions. It was high time I set down my memories and told our stories before I joined them.

Before Cassia and the children arrived at Saguntum I secured the services of a Roman scholar and teacher, Gaius Saturius, by name. Gaius was in his thirties, not impecunious but not wealthy either. He was traveling in Spain, gathering stories of the war against Hannibal for a history he hoped to write. He seemed quite confident such a work would make his reputation and possibly his fortune. He seemed well versed in Latin and knowledgeable in Roman law and history. Gaius had not found the time for soldiering but had spent his youth in many of the libraries found in the homes of the wealthy in Rome. He was of a good family, he appeared a serious sort, and he had several letters of introduction that spoke of his good character and laudable intensions. He seemed an honest and good fellow even if a little dour.

His arrival was fortuitous as the children needed a teacher and I needed a scholar who could smooth the rough edges of my raw ramblings and