Filius Romanus
Title: Filius Romanus (Son of Rome)
Synopsis: An au!au set in the Roman Republic circa 50BC. A centurion in Caesar's army meets his match.
Co-authored by
bb4eva and chamilet.
Very characteristic for all roman training camps was the stench of leather sodden with sweat, and loose dirt mixed with blood - the Fortress at Pescheria del Garda was no exception. A chorus of men’s grunts was punctuated by the clatter of swords as they waged mock battles, clashing against sword or shield. Those not fighting formed an audience that watched in silence, only rarely roaring in approval or disdain. This was not a spectacle, the likes of those held at the coliseum in Rome. This was training for actual battle, where the difference between life and death depended on how well soldiers fought together as a unit. One weak link, one misstep from a single soldier, and the entire unit was vulnerable.
The Centurion, Yannis of Gaul, was obviously not pleased to read the orders on the scroll, delivered as was customary - by messenger. General Titus' son, Jacobus, was to join his century. Yannis cursed and kicked at the dirt under his feet. There was not enough time to whip the General's son into a solider fit for battle before they headed out to meet Ceasar in Bavaria, and from his experience with legacy military types; they were usually both incompetent and spoiled, with an oversized ego to match. What had started out as a good day, now seemed cursed by the gods. Yannis preferred to recruit his own men. He was considered a good judge of character and might, putting together the strongest century in the ninth division of the Roman army. He rarely lost men in battle, his unit cohesion legendary for good reason; they marched and fought in perfect lock-step, forming an impenetrable wall that devoured opponents on the battlefield. Yannis was determined to drive this Jacobus on to greener pastures as soon as possible; no way was he inserting a weak link into his century.
"Where is he?" Yannis asked of the messenger, knowing the military progeny was not far behind.
Messengers usually tried to blend into the scenery, leaving the citizen to think their scroll had appeared from thin air. The unsuccessful at this disappearing act have been known to absorb retaliatory words, sometimes blows, when they herald bad news. Especially with soldiers, one always had to be careful, and not knowing what the scroll contained - the messenger was naturally jittery.
"The young man in company of the Commander who sent you," Yannis explained to the terrified and confused messenger.
The messenger pointed to the commander's tent. Yannis dismissed him with a nod, and cursed beneath his breath. His new recruit must be on a really high horse if they expected Yannis to go to him, rather than the other way around. Ten summers in the Roman army had taught him which battles to fight and which to walk away from, he headed for the commander's tent.
Yannis trusted his instincts; they had led him to become, at a mere twenty three summers of age, the youngest non-Roman centurion of Caesar’s army. He relied heavily on his gut and found that first impressions, like words carved in stone, weathered the storm of time quite well. Jacobus, son of a General or not, would not find favor with him --- of this, he was certain.
He paused after walking through the flaps of the tent, waiting to be acknowledged.
"Centurion," the man behind the desk called out, beckoning him forward.
"Commander," Yannis nodded and stepped forward, heels clapped together in attention, his helmet held to his breastplate.
"You have received my message?"
"Aye, Sir."
Yannis looked to his new recruit for the first time. Expecting a dainty man-child, a roman citizen of the sort that filled the bath houses in Rome --- with their milky white skin, painted faces, and undeveloped arms measuring no thicker than that of a dame --- Jacobus Titus was not quite what Yannis had imagined. Yes, perfectly manicured hands made it obvious he'd never done a hard day's work in his life. Rich, pampered and spoilt fit the bill, but, the calluses that branded swordsmen as such broke the evenness of his otherwise delicate hands. The young man's arms looked strong, muscles still taut with youth, flesh swollen with good feeding and plenty of exercise. The bulge of his shoulders, on which the leather straps of his uniform rested, and his muscled calves were as impressive as any trained fighter's. Yannis was almost driven to reassess his weak link theory, but the head on those strong shoulders included a face much too pretty for battle. Blue eyes that sparkled like the gemstones on a royal crown were circled by thick lashes longer than the reed tip of Yannis' writing pen. A dark mane of hair fell to his shoulders, framing the flawless skin of his face. An angled jaw line and the protruding midline of his neck branded his masculinity. If a man could be described as beautiful, Jacobus Titus would be that man. He was certainly far more striking than Yannis had expected, and the stirring in his loins confirmed it. Yannis wondered what twist of fate pushed this young man towards the battlefield. With a general for a father, no doubt he would make a compelling politician - Yannis could even imagine him senator in his later years - Jacobus Titus was definitely more political than military material.
"Very well, then." The commander's voice interrupted Yannis' thoughts, "I am told Jacobus is very eager to start training. Isn't that so, Jacobus?"
"Yes, Sir!" the young man responded, his eagerness taking Yannis by surprise.
Legacy types were usually reluctantly in the military, which made them all the more dangerous in battle. Not quite willing to accept the enthusiasm at face value, Yannis wondered how the young man could feign sincerity with such ease.
"It will be grueling training. Every soilder in my century is already battle ready and we are expected to make for the front lines by the next day of Ides. I cannot, and will not, accept less from you than my own men," Yannis meant for his voice to be harsh, threatening. From the scroll in his hand, Yannis knew that Jacobus - with no more than twenty summers under his belt - had no idea what real battle was like, "One mistake from you and men die, or you die."
"I understand, Sir!" Jacobus remained deferent, not incensed as Yannis had intended, "Your reputation as centurion precedes you. I will strive to prove myself worthy of your century, if you'll have me."
Yannis nodded, "We'll see."
"I won't be the weak link," Jacobus muttered, more to himself, but Yannis heard - and that impressed him. Such a thought process was the mentality of the military. On the other hand - Yannis chided himself for falling under the spell of those cobalt eyes - such was also the spirit of the competitive greek games the upper classes indulged in. Jacobus came with instructions carved in stone, if his manly beauty drove blood from Yannis' head to his nether parts, it was best to follow the inscription carved by his instinct and years of experience. The hardness under his tunic called another matter to Yannis' attention. His thrifty ways while away from Rome would have to be put on hold. It was obvious from his reaction to the dark haired Titus; he needed to spend ten denari from his leather pouch at the local tavern to quench his lust. In Rome, one of the slave boys in his employ would usually suffice. It was not frowned upon to like, or even prefer, the male form. What Yannis could not do, and had never done, was lust after men of equal or better station. By the gods, he would not start now.
"Jacobus, leave us be. I have matters to discuss with the Centurion," the commander ordered.
"Aye, Sir."
Yannis nodded back in acknowledgment as Jacobus saluted first the commander, then him. He watched the young man walk out of the tent, and turned to the commander to continue their conversation.
"What say ye, Centurion?"
"He'd make a better senator than soldier."
"Always honest, even when it would serve you better not to be."
"It serves me best to protect my men."
"And now, one in particular you'll do well to protect."
Such was the code of military men. Yannis knew the Commander had not missed his point about Jacobus, just as he had not missed the order to keep the boy out of harm's way.
"Yannis," the commander rarely used names; he could tell this was as serious a matter as it was personal.
"Sir?"
"Your unit was specifically requested. Either General Titus is a fan, or he simply has a death wish for his son. I know you are a soldier not a guardian, but as a favor to his mother, who assures me Jacobus wants to fight in your century, I ask this of you. I have promised her no harm will come to him, and you Centurion, will make sure I keep that promise."
"Aye, Sir."
"You may speak freely Centurion," the commander did not get to his position without an accurate sense of his soldiers.
"I cannot both pamper and keep him safe. He will have to hold his own in battle; his training will be hard on him."
"Do things your way, Centurion. That is what you are asking me, is it not?"
"Aye."
"Let me never receive news of harm to the boy."
"And if there are other complaints?"
"To those, I shall be deaf."
"Very well, Sir. It shall be as you ask."
Yannis left the commander's tent not sure what surprised him more: that a woman's plea could bend the will of the Commander, that Jacobus wanted to fight in his century or that a father would throw his son to the wolves. Legacy types steered clear of his century. One fights on the frontlines to command an army, not to advance a facade of a military career.
He had full permission to whip the boy into a soldier, Jacobus would either become a real fighter or he would abandon this folly before he got people killed. Yannis wondered if the commander was aware he had just given him free reign to drive Jacobus to quit.
Yannis devised a plan, his century would be better off if Jacobus left before they departed for Bavaria. Jacobus was trouble.
Jacobus is trouble in more ways than one. Admit it, Innis. It is *you* who will be better off without him around. He silenced that inner voice, the only one that uttered his real name Innis, on Roman soil. He drifted into a memory that never seemed to dull even with the passage of time.
"Innis! Innis, get back here," the smile on her face undercut the sternness she tried to voice, "you will be the death of me, my son."
His face took on that sullen look; the one he'd discovered helped him get his way, more often than not.
"You may go to the river with your friends," she relented, "Just be back before nightfall. There has been talk of a Roman invasion. I want you home."
Innis ran through the kitchen, the piece of bread he had grabbed from the table held between his teeth. Out in the meadows, the grass crumbled beneath his feet and the sun kissed the golden curls on his head as they bounced in rhythm with his run.
The Roman invasion had come, Innis returned to a house burned down, his family gone. The village was littered with dead bodies in the square and Innis knew enough not to stand around. He hid away, marched aimlessly through the meadow and foraged the forest for sustenance. Finally, weakened by hunger and dismay, the Romans caught him.
He snapped out of it as quickly as he could. He was a Roman now, Yannis, as they had renamed him in the greek dialect spoken by the laity. Innis was no more, except in the darkness of the night, in memories he had to pretend no longer existed.
****
Jacobus was conflicted as he headed back to the training grounds. He got the feeling that the Centurion did not appreciate the new addition to his contubernium. He could understand that. He was used to having to prove himself. But he was also tired of having to do so. You would think that the son of a General would be looked upon as someone who might know a thing or two about battle, but Jacobus was finding that in most cases it just meant that he had to work harder, fight better and only get half of the credit for any glory. It was expected that he would be soft and spoiled and unfortunately, the Centurion appeared to be no different. The tall blond with the fawn colored eyes had given him the once-over and then assumed he was going to be a disgrace to his century, even though it was obvious that his body spoke of hard work and training. He had worked long and hard with the soldiers brought in to teach him sword fighting and archery. His muscles were strong, his reflexes sharp. True, he had never faced a day of battle in his life, but that did not mean he would not be an excellent soldier ready to fight for the glory of Rome, ready to give his life, if necessary.
Rudolphus Mallius emerged from his tent as he saw Jacobus approach. "All is well?"
"Aye. The Centurion just received the unfortunate news that General Titus' son has joined his century," Jacobus sighed.
"Once Yannis has observed your skill with the bow and the sword, he will change his tune."
"He is a fair man then?"
"Aye! Once he sees your worth, he is not one to deny a man his due."
Jacobus was uncertain about the look in Rudolphus' eye when talking about his 'worth,' but he was certain that he did not like it. "I look forward to proving myself to the Centurion," Jacobus stated, head held high.
****
Yannis watched as Jacobus sparred with the legionnaire, Rudolphus Mallius. One of the best swordsmen in the division, he was in-charge of training many centuries, including Yannis'. Jacobus wielded a sword well enough, Yannis was almost impressed. He flung the sword, instead of plunging into his opponent, a sign his skills were not yet honed in the battle.
Jacobus held himself in perfect form, the stance of those for whom swordsmanship was sport, not a livelihood. Movements designed to impress a cheering crowd, more sensual than necessary, movements one quickly discarded in the heat of battle. Although Yannis was loath to admit it, they had their intended effect on him. He watched, mesmerized, as the muscles on Jacobus' arms were worked by the heavier training sword. Grunts became pants; the new recruit not yet in possession of the stamina of a soldier, had reached his limit. It was a secret training technique of the Roman army, to use swords twice the weight if those used in battle for training. Jacobus had been trained by a soldier, perhaps his father guessed Yannis, with a standard issue weapon; much lighter and also much easier to handle.
Rudolphus lowered his sword, letting Jacobus bend over to catch his breath.
"Very different from training at home, isn't it?" Rudophus asked, amused at his distress.
"Yes." Jacobus let out between pants, chuckling at his predicament. He heard the gasp from Rudolphus before he felt the cold steel of a sword on his neck.
"And so a soldier meets his end," Yannis' voice was harsh, and unforgiving.
Jacobus tilted his head to the side, not daring to straighten back up, and looked up at Yannis from under his lashes. He met a stern gaze.
"There is a reason military training is orderly sequenced. It would be wise to build your stamina before you play at battle, lest ye affirm what all fear; that you'd not last through a fight."
"It was my idea to spar with a former pupil.” Rudolphus spoke up, his eyes lingering on the rounded moulds of Jacobus’ derriere, just as Yannis’ had. The Centurion was aware Rudolphus took his pleasures in boys, and it angered Yannis that his eyes lingered so on Jacobus.
“I have known the boy since he was but an unclad lad. Lighten up," Rudolphus said in jest.
Yannis found he was irritated by the knowledge that Rudolphus had known Jacobus. As a sword master, he had probably known him as men can know boys but not men of equal station. He wondered to himself, if the General would have approved of such consorting quite common between pupil and master, when the master is so inclined and pupil eager to please.
"Aye, his father is a General, his sword master is the great Rudolphus Mallius, and he has dined no doubt with Ceaser himself. Mallius, old friend, it is that familiarity and the favor it carries, he must be distanced from -- if I am ever to make a decent soldier out of him." Yannis was not moved to be lenient.
"Aye," Rudolphus nodded, understanding that Jacobus had to be nothing but a faceless, nameless recruit and be trained like any other soldier. Yannis was tough on his men, but he was efficient at getting them battle ready. He knew Jacobus would become a better soldier serving under Yannis. He felt for his former pupil, who had nevertheless fought much longer with the heavier training knife than most new recruits could. Jacobus would make a great soldier, like his father the General, of this Rudolphus was certain.
Yannis lifted his sword, sliding into the sheath attached to the cingulum around his waist. "Arise," the centurion ordered Jacobus.
Muscles already cramping, Jacobus was obviously grateful for the relief.
"I have witnessed today your eagerness for more exertion than the infantry training affords. Isn't that so?" Yannis caught the look of surprise, the fleeting momentary elation, and then almost immediately a sullen look as Jacobus worked it out. No reply was forth coming, and Yannis could tell from the slump in the young man’s shoulders, he was expecting a rebuke after what others might have mistaken as praise.
"I anticipate you will continue this initiative by requesting extra chores after training every day." The request was, some might say, unfair. Such was life, in Yannis' mind, unfair. A lesson even the General's son would have to learn. Death, too, is never fair when it comes calling.
Expecting some protest, he was surprised to see Jacobus grind his teeth, swallow hard and mutter through clenched jaws, "Aye, Centurion."
"You are dismissed."
With Jacobus gone, Yannis turned to Rudolphus, who regarded him with reproachful eyes. Daring the master gladius trainer to challenge his methods, Yannis held his gaze, defiant in his stance.
"I hope you know what you do, Centurion."
"I do."
With those words, they parted ways, Yannis animated mostly by the image that had seared itself into his consciousness - his new recruit bent over, panting. It would never do for anyone to find out just how much Yannis wanted his new charge, bent over and panting. Despite his feigned indifference, he too had been impressed with the General's son's stamina and skill. Jacobus Titus might yet be the first man Yannis had misread, but it was not his pride that hardened him to the handsome citizen of Rome, it was the surge of blood in his veins at the sight of the man that alerted him to danger. And yet, he could not run as he always did in similar situations. He would have to sleep in a tent with cobalt eyes peering at him from under those long dark lashes.
Yannis was tasked to train him as if he was just another soldier - but under his brass breast plate, his fluttering heart knew otherwise. He would have protected Jacobus, given his life to do so, even if he had not been so instructed. It was that instinct, to protect this dark haired vixen from the horrors of war and the leering gaze of a particular gladius trainer that terrified Yannis. For the first time since walking amongst the corpses that had littered his village in Gaul, Yannis felt - fear.
Jacobus Titus might be the end of many a man in Yannis' century on the battlefield - but, off it - in his contubernium, he could be the end of Yannis.
_
TBC...
_______
Contubernium: group of 8 soldiers that shared a tent and ate together.
Day of Ides: Full moon. Ides, dedicated to Jupiter, was originally the time of the full moon.
Cingulum: a military belt worn at all times, even without the rest of the armor.
Gladius: Short sword used for stabbing.
threesomes