Carthage Must Be Destroyed, page 20
part #2 of Soldier of the Republic Series
“Julian,” Gordianus said suddenly turning to him. “It’s done. We agreed the price. You all right to stay down here and wait for us? I will try and get you a free shag. I promise.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Julian said, as he stoically raised his cup of wine to his lips.
Watching Lucius and Gordianus excitedly cross the room and vanish up the ladder to the first floor, Julian sighed. He’d not had much luck with women. He’d told no one about how, back in his old home, he had asked Julia to marry him only for her to turn him down. It was just too embarrassing.
For a while Julian stayed where he was, leaning back against the bar, sipping his wine and gazing at the locals. But as he waited for his mates to re-appear his eyes kept returning to the big, tough looking bearded men and their dice game. The men were gambling. He was sure of it and from the piles of silver coins on the table, it looked like they were staking some serious amounts of money.
Noticing him watching the table and the silver coins, one of the bearded men suddenly said something to his companions before rising to his feet and coming towards Julian. Standing his ground Julian carefully folded his arms across his chest as the man paused to look him up and down.
“Roman,” the man said with a hard-unfriendly expression.
“That’s right,” Julian replied guardedly.
“I see that you are interested in our game,” the man continued in accented Latin. “My buddies and I are silver miners, in town for a short while. Would you like to join our game?”
“I have got no money,” Julian replied.
“You have that sword,” the man said gesturing at the sheathed Gallic sword strapped to Julian’s back. “It looks valuable. Maybe even a king’s sword. I won’t ask you how you got it, but are you willing to wager it in a fair game of chance?”
Julian hesitated. “All right,” he said at last with a nod.
“Good, then come with me,” the miner said, beckoning for Julian to follow him.
As Julian approached, the group of tough, hard-faced miners turned to stare at him before silently moving aside to create some space for him to sit down at the table. Staring at the piles of gleaming coins Julian took a quick sip of wine. His father would be furious if he knew what he was doing, but Flavius was not here.
“They want to inspect your sword,” the miner who’d come up to him said glancing at Julian.
Carefully Julian lifted the sheathed weapon from his back and placed it in the middle of the table. For a moment no one moved, as all eyes stared at the fine swirling Gallic design etched into the leather. Then a little murmur broke out amongst the miners in a language Julian could not understand and one of them reached for the hilt and pulled the blade free. Holding the steel up in the air, the men peered at the finely crafted metal work. Gazing back at the miners in silence, Julian watched as the men reached out to run their fingers admiringly along the steel.
“They say they will wager ten silver coins for the sword,” the miner said abruptly turning to Julian. “We play a straight game. Three dice, six numbers, highest combined number wins. One roll of the cup. It’s fair. You lose, you lose, understood.”
Julian coolly reached for his cup of wine and took another sip trying not to choke. Ten silver coins! Ten coins! He had no idea how much the sword was worth, but ten silver coins was a huge sum, much more than he had been expecting.
“All right, who goes first,” he said turning to look at the hard, bearded and mature faces watching him from around the table.
In response one of the miners muttered something that made his companions smile and then pushed ten silver coins into the middle of the table. Picking up the three dice, the miner dropped them into the cup, rattled it about, raised the cup, glanced around the table and then swiftly turned the cup over as he slammed it onto the table. Pulling the cup away Julian gazed down at a 1, a 5 and a 6. Leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look, the miner said something in his own language. Coolly reaching for the dice Julian paused to examine them for a moment. Then he dropped them into the cup and rattled them about. Holding up the cup in the air he paused and turned to stare at his opponent. Then with a bang he smacked the cup down on the table. Pulling away the cup Julian’s eyes bulged as he saw a 3, a 5 and another 5. He had won. He had just won ten silver coins. Opposite him the miner groaned and a stream of foreign swear words came spewing from his mouth, as he glared at Julian.
“You are lucky,” the miner who’d come up to him said with an amused smile. “Maybe it is beginner’s luck. Maybe another round is necessary. Will you give us a chance to win our coins back?”
“All right,” Julian said calmly handing the cup to one of the miners and retrieving his sword.
It was a little later when still sat at the table Julian felt a woman’s soft hands begin to rub and massage his shoulders, whilst the tavern owner silently refilled his cup of wine. Standing around the table a small-excited crowd of spectators had gathered to watch the gamblers when suddenly, someone was leaning next to Julian and a voice was whispering in his ear.
“Free shag, it’s the blond one,” Gordianus whispered. Then abruptly he stopped talking and straightened up as he caught sight of the huge pile of silver coins lying on the table in front of Julian. “Holy fuck,” Gordianus exclaimed. “Lucius, Lucius, come and have a look at this. Julian has just won himself a fortune.”
***
As the three of them staggered out of the tavern and into the night, Lucius reached out to place his arms around the shoulders of his two friends, threw back his head, and howled for pure joy. Grinning, swaying and chuckling the three young soldiers vanished up the dark street in the direction of the city walls. Keeping one hand on the large pouch of silver coins that dangled from his belt, Julian looked amazed, the darkness hiding his glowing cheeks. Gordianus was right, he had just won a fortune, more money than he knew what to do with.
“What the fuck man,” Gordianus hissed, glancing at him as if reading his mind. “Have you ever seen so much silver. Spain must be a rich country. What are you going to do with it, Julian?”
Julian raised his eyebrows. He had no idea. Then abruptly he came to a halt in the dimly lit street. As his two companions looked on, he fumbled inside the money pouch before producing a couple of silver coins and handing them to Gordianus and Lucius. Accepting the money his two friends fell silent.
“Friends, right,” Julian said, glancing at the two young soldiers.
“Friends, man,” Gordianus said in an appreciative voice. “Friends to the end,” Lucius replied as he affectionately wrapped his arm around Julian’s neck and gave him a playful squeeze before releasing him.
As the three of them resumed walking, Gordianus again glanced at Julian. “So, what are you going to do with that money?” he exclaimed.
“He’d better hide it when we get back to camp,” Lucius said, as he led the way. “Or else those thieves will steal it. Find a spot, dig a hole and bury the silver. Then retrieve it later. That’s what I would do.”
“My father needs a new set of carpenters tools,” Julian said thoughtfully, as he strode along in the darkness. “He wants to build a new house. I think I may try and find a way in which to send some of the silver to him. But Lucius is right. I will bury the rest in a safe spot.”
“Will you tell us where?” Gordianus said with a grin. “Just in case you get killed. It would be a shame to leave so much silver wasting away in the ground.”
Before Julian could answer - ahead of him Lucius had come to an abrupt halt and was furiously gesturing to his friends to be silent. Then Julian heard it too. The rhythmic rasp of hobnailed boots striking the paving stones. The sound was close, coming towards them, just around a bend in the narrow street.
“Fucking patrol,” Lucius whispered, his eyes bulging in alarm. “Hide.”
As Julian and Gordianus shot into an alley Lucius went the wrong way. Realising his mistake, he swiftly reversed course and raced into the alley where his two mates were hiding, vanishing into the protective darkness just in time. Holding his breath Julian pressed himself up against the cold, stone wall, feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest. The tramp of boots was close. Then in the dim light, just a couple of yards away, soldiers, clutching shields and spears, were moving on past. Pressed up against the wall Julian did not dare move a muscle. But the soldiers had not seen him and as the patrol moved away down the street he carefully exhaled. Next to him in the alley Gordianus was softly laughing to himself.
“That was close,” Lucius whispered as he playfully punched Gordianus on the shoulder.
Leading them back up the street in the direction of the walls Julian had just reached a cross roads when he was hit by a small stone. Coming to a halt he frowned and peered down the dimly lit street. Had someone just chucked a stone at him? Then he took a startled step backwards, as from the darkness several men appeared, quietly bearing down on him, armed with clubs and knives. Behind him he heard Lucius start to curse. Quickly glancing sideways Julian saw more armed men coming out of the side street. The gang easily outnumbered the three of them. They had him surrounded. Reaching over his shoulder he quickly pulled the long Gallic sword free from its sheath as Gordianus and Lucius pulled their pugio army knives from their belts and turned to face the strangers.
“What do you want?” Julian growled.
For a moment there was no reply from the men surrounding him. Then at last a quiet accented voice spoke from the darkness.
“We don’t want any trouble Romans,” the voice whined. “Just give us the silver and we will let you go unharmed.”
“I have no silver, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Julian retorted. “You have mistaken us for someone else.”
“No,” the voice shot back from the darkness. “No, I am not mistaken. You are the one from the tavern. We saw you win the game. You have the silver, now give it to us or else we will kill one of your friends.”
Standing behind him, Julian could hear Lucius cursing and spewing forth the most terrible words. Biting his lip Julian glared at the armed gang. But there was nothing he could do. There were too many of them. They had him trapped.
“All right,” Julian called out as he carefully reached for the pouch hanging from his belt. “All right. I agree. We do not want any trouble. Here is the silver.”
Chucking the pouch onto the paving stones, Julian hastily turned to his companions. “Let’s get out of here,” he snapped in an urgent voice.
Barging past the armed men the three of them hastened off down the street and as he looked back Julian was relieved to hear no sound of pursuit.
“Can you fucking believe it,” Gordianus hissed in dismay as the city walls loomed up in front of them. “You make and lose a fortune in a single night. What kind of a screwed-up country is this?”
“It’s the wild west,” Julian said with a stoic shrug.
Chapter Seventeen – Character Building
The exercise yard just outside the Roman army camp on the outskirts of Emporiae rang out to the sound of soldiers in training. It was just after dawn and across the cleared ground thousands of legionaries, grouped together into their maniples, were being put through their paces. Slowly walking amongst the groups of men observing and shouting at them in loud, harsh voices, were the company centurions and optios, clutching their vine rods.
Standing smartly in battle formation in the middle of the exercise terrain, the hundred and twenty young recruits of the Tenth Maniple of Hastati of the Third Legion, clad in their white tunics, were clutching their heavy round shields and wooden training swords. At his position in the front row, directly facing Manus his commanding officer, Julian was stiffly staring into the space, willing himself to stay awake and not allow his eyes to droop through lack of sleep. Standing beside him, he could sense that Gordianus was struggling too. Manus however seemed not to have noticed and was gazing at his men with grave, sombre-looking eyes. The senior centurion was a tall, thin man of fifty with a faded tattoo on his left arm and a large scar that had horribly disfigured his mouth and face. He’d served in the first war with Carthage, Julian had learned. The rumour was that he’d spent four years as a prisoner of war in a Carthaginian dungeon.
Standing arrayed in battle formation, the hundred and twenty men of the maniple had been divided into two sections, the foremost century and a rearmost century, each with sixty enlisted soldiers and officers. The hastatus were standing shoulder to shoulder in rows twenty wide and three-deep. Out in front of each century, standing directly behind their centurion, were the junior officers, the standard bearer, holding up the proud company banner, a trumpeter and the tesserarius, the watch commander. Finally bringing up the rear of the two companies, and clutching their long wooden sticks, were the optio’s, the second in commands.
“Front company will follow me for throwing practice,” Manus bellowed in a deep booming voice, as he quickly signalled to the maniple’s junior centurion. “Rear company will start with physical fitness drill. Afterwards we switch. Let’s go.”
Abruptly Manus turned and strode across to where the company’s light and heavy throwing spears were lying in the sand. As the sixty men trooped on after their commander, Julian caught Gordianus give him a sheepish grin. Picking up one of the light pila, throwing spears, Manus carefully weighed it in his hand. Then lifting it up above his shoulder, he took a few quick steps and hurled the missile at a straw target post some twenty yards away, hitting the target full on.
“Drop your shields and swords and listen,” Manus growled in a fatherly manner, as he turned to look at the young faces crowding around him. As the soldiers obediently dropped their heavy round practice shields and wooden swords, Julian folded his arms across his chest.
“All of you are young and inexperienced,” Manus said sombrely “You think you are soldiers, but you are not, not yet. None of you have faced an enemy in battle. None of you have experienced war. You may think you know how to fight, but you do not. This army to which we belong is just an untrained militia. We are amateurs facing professionals.” Manus paused, as his eyes swept across the faces of the young recruits. “My job, here,” he called out, “is to keep you all alive and try and turn you into the finest fighting men in the legion. Now since we left Italy there has not been much time for training and welding this unit into a proper fighting force. But that changes today. We are going to train and train and train at every possible opportunity that we get. We are a hastati unit - first into close contact with the enemy. It’s going to be a rude awakening for you all, but if you listen and pay attention to what I teach you, there is good chance that you will survive.”
Manus paused as he allowed his words to sink in. Then he turned to the pile of light and heavy pila.
“All right,” the centurion bellowed. “Each man will pick a light spear and throw it at the target. Show me what you can do.”
As the young soldiers began to line up and throw their spears across the twenty-yard gap, Julian saw that nearly every one of his comrades was missing the target. Watching the practice, Manus had begun to swear and shake his head in despair. As he looked on, Julian was suddenly aware of Lucius standing beside him.
“I think what Manus is trying to say is that we’re shit,” Lucius whispered with a crooked grin.
Julian did not reply as his turn came to throw the light pila at the target. Picking up one of the spears with its long iron tip, he carefully weighed it like he’d seen Manus do. Then raising the weapon above his shoulder, he leapt forwards and flung the spear at the target, hitting it square in the centre. Turning back to his comrades with a broad triumphant grin, Julian was oblivious to Manus watching him.
“We do it again,” the centurion bellowed as the last of the men had flung their spears at the target. “We are going to keep doing this until everyone of you has hit the target at-least once. Then we are going to start throwing the heavy spear. I want you to notice the difference between the weight and effectiveness of the two spears. I want you to become familiar with that difference. When we charge the enemy line, we throw our light spear first, followed by the heavy one.”
It was an hour or so later when Manus abruptly called the exercise to a halt.
“Lucius, Julian and Gordianus, come here,” the centurion bellowed.
Obediently Julian strode over to Manus followed by two companions. “These three volunteers,” Manus cried out turning to his men, “are going to demonstrate to you how to defend oneself from an enemy missile attack.”
Swiftly Manus turned to Gordianus. “You are up first. Pick up that shield over there and go and stand in front of the target. Then I want you to crouch and hold the shield across your body. Do not move or you will be dead.”
Gordianus’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said nothing as he picked up the shield and trudged out towards the target. Julian slowly exhaled as he watched Gordianus turn and crouch behind his large oval shield. Before anyone could say anything, Manus had picked up a light spear and had hurled it straight at Gordianus. As the weapon slammed into the shield, Gordianus yelped in terror and stumbled backwards onto his arse, with the spear sticking into the shield.
“The lesson here,” Manus bellowed turning to his troops, “Is that you should trust your shield. Your shield will save your life. Do never abandon your shield. A spear will not penetrate your shield unless you are really unlucky.”
Turning to gaze at Gordianus, Manus quickly shouted at him, ordering him to resume his former position in front of the target. “Now I shall demonstrate the effect that the heavy pila have on a shield,” the centurion roared as he raised one of the heavy spears in the air and turned towards Gordianus, who was cowering behind his shield. “Watch and learn, boys.”
***
The morning was well advanced, and Julian was down on his hands and toes stretched out in the sand, puffing and straining as he did his fifty push-ups. Around him the rest of the company were doing the same. Observing the sixty, sweating, straining men down in the sand, Manus and his Optio were slowly moving amongst the ranks, idly tapping their vine rods against their legs as they paused now and then to shout instructions at individual soldiers. Completing his fifty, Julian sank down on the ground in relief. As he waited for the rest of the company to finish their physical exercise, he caught Lucius rolling his eyes at him.
