Julius was intrigued. “How much is the signing bonus?”
The legionnaire named a figure. Julius felt his eyebrowsrise.
“I can tell you need some time to think about it. But don’ttake too long, and miss out on this chance. The army offers mobility, a chanceto improve your life. Don’t stay here and be a slave, a cog in some factory forthe rest of your life. That’s not much to tell your grandkids about.”
The recruiter’s eyes met Julius’s, eyes that had seen waytoo much in this world. “I wouldn’t trade my experiences for anything,” he saidin a softer voice, as if he had read Julius’s mind. Then his tone grew brisk.“We’ll be here for three more days. Simply ask for us at the auxilia barracks.After that we march for Camp Titus, near the Black Forest. You get the signingbonus the moment you sign on the dotted line and receive the tin Aquila, thesymbol of legionnaires in training. I’m Duplicarius Apollonius, head recruiter.”The soldier held out his hand. Julius extended his own, and after giving it afirm shake, Apollonius moved off into the crowd.
Julius resumed his walk home, his heart beating a littlefaster as he envisioned himself proudly wearing the uniform of the legion. Hisonly worry was how he would convince his parents.
Marcus Caesar’s calloused fist slammed onto the scuffeddinner table. “No. No, no, no. No son of mine is going to join thelegions. You are this”-he held up his thumb and forefinger, their tips nearlytouching-“close to getting that promotion. I can feel it in my bones. Even mymetal ones.” He slapped his brass replacement leg, which responded with ahollow reverberation.
Julius held his father’s stare from across the table. A fewyears ago, he would not have been able to maintain that stare for long. Now,his father’s brown eyes reflected how living in one of the poorest areas of thecity had drained him, both mentally and physically. The past few years haddeepened the lines on his face and peppered his curly black hair with gray.
Marcus cracked a nut in his hand and popped it into hismouth. “Aurelia, give me a hand here.”
“Now, Marcus,” Aurelia Marcia said softly from her placebefore the sink, washing dishes. They were now unable to pay for householdhelp, so Julius’s mother did most of the chores. Her slender, fine-boned handswiped the dishrag over the dirty plates and whirled it within the cups. “He’sold enough to make his own decisions. I don’t want him joining the legionseither, but we’re at peace. You know a peacetime army does little more thanmarch in circles and look nice for the praetors.”
Marcus scowled and turned back to Julius. “I am still the paterfamiliasof this household and I say you will not be joining the legions!”
Julius had never heard his father yell before. He preferredto convince his children to follow a certain path, rather than simply demandthat they follow his will.
The floorboards creaked and Julius heard the pitter-patterof small feet just before seven-year-old Marciena entered the room. “Momma, whyis Papa yelling?” she asked, her brown curls jostling one another as she movedto press herself to her mother’s side like a thin shadow.
Aurelia gave her husband a tired look as she dried her handson her apron. She placed the last of the dishes in the autodryer, turned thecrank, and walked away as the machine began to emit a low-pitched whine.
Marcus pushed his chair back and stood, leaning heavily onhis cane. His mechanical leg squealed and hissed, finally settling into thegroove of walking as his leg bent and flexed at the knee joint. He walked overto the autodryer and smacked it on its side. “Holy Emperor, this stupid pieceof scrap metal never seems to work.” He smacked it again for good measure andthe machine’s whine faded to a low, steady hum. “I’m amazed it’s stayedtogether this long. Gonna have to break out the wrench-spanner tomorrow andtake this thing apart to see where that wire’s crossed.” He turned to look atJulius. “You’ll help me, right?” It sounded like a plea.
Julius mustered his courage. “Father, I know it’s been hardfor us, but this is our way out. The army pays better than the factory does.They also offer a signing bonus-twenty-five denarii! That will pay off ourloans and you’ll own this place. I’ll even have my pay sent back here, soMarciena can go to school and you and Momma won’t have to worry.” He set hismug down on the table. His fingers felt the cracks in the mug, repaired againand again by his mother to stretch every coin they had. “We need the money.It’s the only thing we can do.”
His father was staring out the window over the kitchen sink,gazing at the reflections from the gas lights sparkling in the glass windows ofthe city. A steamwagon clattered and chugged along the street below, metalwheels grinding against the pavement. “Looks like fog tonight,” he observed,his voice a low rumble. He turned to glance at his only son, who shifted on thethree-legged stool at the table.
I wonder what he is seeing, Julius thought, notingthe distant, almost glazed look in the old man’s eyes.
With a small jerk of his head, Marcus brought his attentionback to the present. “You cannot leave. You do not have my blessing.” Emotionchoked his voice.
Julius sighed as his father stumped out of the room. Whilehe had known it would be a challenge to bring his father around, he hadn’tanticipated such extreme opposition. He had hoped his father would support him.
His mother walked back into the kitchen. She put her armaround his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. Possessed of a gentle soul,she rarely expressed anger or frustration. Aurelia was similar to the clothingshe wove and sold to the poor people of the slums: simple and plain, but toughand strong, too. Not flashy or rich, but dependable and long-lasting. Hismother had made a life for herself, here in the slums.
She sat down next to Julius. “Your father is not angry atyou. He’s angry that you are leaving your family. You have responsibilitieshere-to your community, to the factory, and to your sister and father and me.”Her voice had fallen almost to a whisper, blending with the sounds of the citythat crept into the quiet kitchen: the clanking and whirring of a walkerpatrolling nearby; the occasional screech of metal against rusted metal; thefaint crash of waves against the city wall behind them.
“Can you bring Papa around? I have to go. This is about myonly chance to get out of here, to see the Empire. Can you imagine, Mother?There is a world beyond these black iron walls, beyond this stinking slum. Ican’t stay here. I’ll leave without his blessing, if I have to.”
She smiled wanly. “Sometimes I think it’s hard for yourfather to see how much of him there is in you. I’ll do my best to bring himaround. You know how he needs time to adjust. Now, you get some sleep. We’lldiscuss this further in the morning.” She rose and moved quietly from the room.
Julius gathered his thoughts and left the kitchen, the gearsin his head turning full tilt. As he lay in his bed, close to falling asleep,he heard the susurration of his mother’s whispered prayers to the gods for hissafety. Her voice lulled him to sleep.
~ * * * ~
A few blocks away, the constabulary auxilia walker MaxentiusIII slogged its way through the darkened streets of Sludge Bottom,traditionally not a bastion of law and order in the vibrant mechanical city ofBrittenburg. Under pressure from various city council members, merchants, andthe provincial senators, the governor had agreed to send in patrols both day andnight. The constable auxiliary forces were, understandably, not pleased by thisturn of events. After all, they reasoned, the auxiliaries were the ones puttingtheir necks on the line in old and jury-rigged equipment, not the governor orhis flunkies.
The four-man patrol were stationed at various points on theflat-topped walker as its four legs moved it like a giant beetle through thestreets. The vehicle was about ten feet tall, with the low railing fortifiedinto “nests” at the front and rear; the under-officer in charge of the patrolstood in the nest in the front tip, the best vantage point on the machine. Alantern just below the horn-like gantry illuminated the area in front of thewalker, and several searchlights swept back and forth, running off powersupplied by the clanking steam engine.