The First Life of Brutality: Part I

I inspected the legion arraigned before my watchful eye. Our duty, the protection of civilization, guided my every action. Recently assigned to the barbarous region northeast of Aquileia, I understood my situation, my plight. Like a grim omen, my predecessor's scored body hung in the center of the camp, surrounded by the charred remains of his effects. Though stagnant, the air delivered a smell to match the grisly sight, while carrion scurried and fought over the choicest remains. My nostrils flared, and I clutched them with a hand, warding against an overflow of revulsion. Yet, as the commanding office, I admired the craft of Rome in transfixing men to a purpose, and its ability to recycle even those how resisted. One should marvel at the reach of civilization this distant, as one is impressed by the flow of blood from the heart to the extremities. The flow of lifeblood outward from the center, obliterating any obstacle, a miracle of existence.

One can not experience dread observing a man's fate or the might of Rome, only disappointment the proscribed work remained unfulfilled. His mission, which he declined to pursue and was now mine: engage and rout a marauding band of barbarians in the frontier eastward. He'd balked and I replaced him. Like drawing a second javelin when the first fails. When I'd composed myself, the men paraded before me, glorious in power and majesty. They wielded gleaming swords in service to the eternal godhead, our sacred responsibility. When they completed their maneuvers and stood at parade rest, I inspected their burnished armor and observed their demeanor.

There were men among them, ready to defend their allegiance to the clear conclusion. Seeing the straight path they would suspend their selfishness in service, but they did not have the compass to right an error of direction. Lost, self-sacrifice would lose its appeal. Among them, there were children and cowards as well. Left to sprout, these weeds would twist and twirl, entrapping others, and impacting the whole contingent, which, though infinitesimal, might alter the fate of Rome itself.

Arrayed in force and prepared with ritual, we departed the camp upon the shore, eager to return to the bounty of Rome. But as we left, I couldn't help but look behind. Those devourers of the dead, sated and perched aloft seemed like themselves, and yet as a soaring threat, the fiercest hunter of the skies.

Since the legion was composed of men unknown to me, I endeavored upon the first march to aquaint myself with the men. Intimating myself with any man beneath the rank of Centurion would only have disturbed the discipline that I expected, so I confined myself to senior officers. The men mostly came from within the locality of Rome itself, but we were bolstered by a contingent of locals sworn to the standard. Though sturdy folk they seemed hesitant to engage in our routines and rituals, performing their own in parallel. Informed of the impropriety of these dividing issues, their ranking officer argued hesitantly when I ordered their cessation.

As we advanced by days I constructed my control of the legion through the Quaestor Varius and Tribune Antonius. A faint wariness tainted my trust, for their records were bare, and the all-seeing mind of Rome had offered neither the opportunity to lead. Varius had traveled a series of campaigns and battles, more than myself, but he never boasted of deeds and no commendations had been awarded. Yet, he expressed his opinion proudly, sure of its value, while often deriding Antonius, whose qualification's for elevated rank stemmed singularly from his uncle, a senator of Rome.

“Halt,” I heard Antonius exclaim, and rode forward from the middle of the formation. The flimsy path, unfit to be designated a road, dissipated into the forest that overshadowed us for the two weeks since we left the coast.

Before I could speak Varius and Antonius fell to arguing. In the first week, when I delegated duties, Varius requested the more honorable, and due to his greater experience, I agreed. Now they stood squabbling like housemaids over an overcooked carcass.

“Fools,” I roared, “It is does not service Rome to embarrass yourselves after endangering our mission.”

“Sir, said Varius in a whining tone I could not stomach, “every report indicates a road runs straight to our objective; the barbarian camp.”

“And yet, there is no road. Even the trail we have followed thus far ceases,” replied Antionius.

“I think, Sir,” Varius said, turning to me, “we will rediscover the path if we venture onward. The mapmaker could not be wrong.”

I understood the logic of his statement. Civilization is right, and above hindrance. If the map indicated a road, a road must be there. To interpret otherwise would deny the might of Rome. The road was constructed, the map composed. If some event had disturbed the road, we would discover it if we continued for it had been here, and must exist further on. I placed my trust in Varius, and we followed the road.

But the road did not reappear that day or the next. On the third day I ordered Varius stripped, and whipped until raw. Varius failure of duty occasioned the punishment, though I felt it would demean my position to enact it myself. As reward I delegated the duty to Antonius, since he had anticipated Varius' failure. There was no road, and never was. The men, demoralized from a lack of civilization, required the reassurance of control whose duty it was mine to ensure.

Antonius fulfilled his duty with precision, and I warmed to his usefulness as we retired to plan our next action. His ideas contained the naivety of untested youth, but demonstrated an understanding of tactics and cunning. Though without proper path for transport, he assured me the enemy might be near, and future approaches should be discreet, to prevent the enemy from reconnoitering our force.

That night as we sat by the fire, and I continued my discussion with Antonius.

“It seems that you are of cultivated stock, of wit and superior breeding. It is a welcome to the men for you remind them of what they fight for,” I said.

“It's an honor to serve valiantly on the field against Rome’s foes. But do you believe that we can bring them to battle, or even locate the enemy now we're lost?”

“Our duty,” I said, “is the elimination of the threat to Rome. Though Varius has led us wrong, his skill in orienteering is reputable and shall put us rightt. We are lost, but it still seems a simple task for our forces.”

“But why not have the local’s lead us?” Antonius replied. “There must be among them at least one who is familiar with the location that we find ourselves in. They may be foreign to our culture, but they have sworn to serve.”

“I had not thought of that,” I admitted, but I was gladdened rather than upset at myself. A commander must know he has not all the knowledge required, and can utilize his officers for assistance.

“And then we shall return victorious to Rome,” Antonius said.

“Yes, and be committed to another task, for that is what Rome requires. An unending vigilance, of unlimited sacrifices by its citizens to secure the bounty of civilization for our prosperity.”

“It is rather unjust that it must be us.”

I looked at him, and he realized that his words had reduced my opinion of him.

“There is no life better than ours. When I spoke before it was in pride, not disappointment.”

Then I bid him retire for the night. As a final thought, before rising, I pulled the offending map from my breast pocket and discarded it into the hot embers.