Memories
The old centurion sat and watched his fields. He sipped his posca slowly in the shade of an old beech tree as he looked out at the property he had built. In the distance he could see the outlines of two burly slaves, and he watched as they tilled the soil in the heat of the late afternoon. Further away, he could barely make out the aqueduct that ran into the city of Ariminum, and beyond that the great expanse of the Adriatic Sea.
“Titus”, he heard his wife call out. He leaned around the trunk of the tree and saw her standing on the veranda of their villa. Her blue dress stood out against the white marble of the villa. He waved to get her attention, and she gestured for him to come inside before heading indoors herself.
He grunted as he pushed himself up from a sitting position into standing. His knees ached and the scar on his side, an old wound from a Macedonian sarissa, continued to give a dull yet continuous pain; although no one would have guessed. He reached inside his simple red tunic to place his right palm on his scar. This was his medicine, and he found that this own touch was most often the best remedy to calm the aches and pains of age. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and willed the pain away for the walk back to the villa.
Contented, he splashed the rest of his posca out of his cup onto the dirt next to the tree. He could’ve afforded better drink, he could even have wine made from the grapes of his own vineyard, but he had acquired a strange taste for the foul tasting posca in the legions. So much of Titus Julius Tatius had come from the legions that he barely remembered who he was before. He had worn the the plain red soldier’s tunic for so long, he began to wear it in even more distant memories so the effect was that he had been a soldier all his life.
In truth, Titus had been born into a poor yet educated family in Rome. His father taught the sons of senators, and Titus was groomed to follow in that tradition. The great war with Carthage ended that path as senator’s sons left scholarly pursuits for early graves in places like Lake Trasamine and Cannae. Titus’s father was born crippled and walked with a limp that excluded him from military service. Titus was not so lucky and was conscripted at 16 to bolster the ranks of Rome’s army in Iberia under the command of a young general named Publius Cornelius Scipio. In Iberia, Titus performed well and his literacy proved a valuable skill that allowed him to rise to the rank of Optio within his maniple of hastatii. When the Carthaginians had been defeated in Iberia, Titus volunteered to take part in Scipio’s ambious expedition to Africa as a Princeps Prior within the Principes. Again, Titus distinguished himself as a reliable leader and was awarded a gold armilla for his actions at Zama. When Philip II of Macedon attacked Rome’s Greek allies, Titus again volunteered to serve as part of the expedition under the Consul Galba.
The war in Macedon had ended quickly, and Rome found itself in state of relative peace for the first time in over a generation. There were no need for soldiers like Titus, and he was discharged. He was given 16 iurgas of land for his service near the city of Ariminum on the northeast coast of Italy. Even though it had been over 25 years ago, Titus’s memory of landing back in Ostia at the end of his service, now a private citizen, a farmer no less, still seemed fresh.