The stew smelled worse than it actually tasted, but after having to swallow the slop nearly every day for two years, since his mother’s passing, he was beyond tolerant of it by now.
It was a shade of brown; thick and had a foul odor that reminded him of a dead rabbit he found last year behind the barn, which had been decomposing for a week. Inside was cuts of beef, various vegetables and some other stuff he had never been able to identify, nor was he sure that he wanted to.
Gaius grabbed a hearty piece of bread, tearing it free from the loaf and dipped it into the bowl. As he took his first bite, as he always did, he plugged his nose with one hand, while scoping a spoonful into his mouth with the other. Then soon after, he poured himself a cup of water from a clay jug that sat in the center of the table, and gulped it down in one sitting, before pouring another cup. He repeated this process for the first five minutes, eating as quickly as he could, both because he was hungry, and out of nervousness about what he was going to say to his father when he returned. A part of him wished he might get to bed sooner so that he could avoid the conversation altogether. However, he had promised Antony he would see what his father said about the subject of going to Rome.
Gaius heard the latch on the front door as his father stepped inside, carrying a stack full of logs in one arm, and a heavy iron axe in his other.
He glanced back at his father, Julius, as he set the logs down by the fire — sweat dripping down from his brow as he then walked over to the fireplace and readied his own bowl of stew.
Julius was a tall, muscular man, taller and bigger than most Roman men, which were contributed to the family’s Gallic ancestry. He had tanned skin that glistened with perspiration. His hair, even though he had been out of the legions for going on eleven years, was still trimmed neatly, low and tight around the ears and above the nap of his neck. His left eye was partly clouded, which obscured his vision, and while his exterior was rough, no one save for Gaius knew that inside, his body was failing him.
As he sat across from Gaius and shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth, a number of deep scars that ran along his thick muscular arms shined neatly in the low flickering candlelight, symbols of the many battles he fought and lived through during his youth with the legions.
Julius moaned for a brief moment, a sound that Gaius was familiar with. He was in almost constant pain, with few days free from the torment. While it bothered him a great deal, he was not about to voice his discomfort to anyone beyond a few groans and moans. Gaius did not know what ailed him precisely, only that his continuing problems must have been the reason why he left the legions a decade earlier.
It was not uncommon for Julius to wake in the middle of the night, haunted by dreams of his past deeds and torments suffered. Two-year’s prior Gaius’ mother would have been there to calm him, but since her passing, things had only gotten worse.
A few nights ago, Gaius caught his father rummaging through the large footlocker that he kept under his bed. Inside was his gear, the effects and weapons of a Roman soldier. He noticed, as he watched him, hidden in the shadows of the moonless night that he seemed most interested in the crest that was engraved on the chest plate of his armor. Later, when he was certain, his father was gone for the day, tending to the grounds, Gaius snuck a peek inside the footlocker and saw what his father had been staring at so intensely. The plate was engraved with an ivory wolf’s head. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and it must have been worth a small fortune; enough, if sold, to rebuild the house and replant the fields, yet it remained locked away, carefully wrapped in a silk cloth.
Whatever its meaning to his father, Gaius had yet to ask. Since then, every so often, he would sneak another peek; rub his fingers over the extremely detailed image of the white wolf, and wonder what it must have been like for his father to have worn the armor into battle. He would never dare to ask him about his military past. Some mysterious were best kept under the bed.
Gaius put his spoon down before he took a deep breath, and then spoke.
“Father, I would like to ask you something.”
“What?” Julius asked with a grunt as he chewed.
“My friend, Antony, has asked me to accompany him to Rome in two days. There is a festival in the city, and he said that I could come, if you agreed.”
“Antony?” Julius seemed to ponder the name for a moment before he spoke again. “That is Maximus Titus Varro’ son?” he then asked as pulled out a small bone from between his teeth.
“Yes father. We are friends. We have been for some time now,” Gaius answered, knowing he had mentioned Antony’s name numerous times — A futile effort. He had better luck speaking to and getting a reaction from a stone wall.
Julius never raised his eyes from his food as he shoved another hefty spoonful into his mouth before he answered, scraping the bowl clean as he spoke.
“No. There is too much work that is needed around here for you to run off and play in the city.”
“But father…I can do all my chores before I leave. And besides, I won’t be gone longer than a day and half, two days at the maximum. I promise,” Gaius pleaded as he moved his still full bowl aside, and stared at his father, who hardly acknowledged what he was asking.
“Rome is not a place for a boy of your age, Gaius.”
“But father, I will be thirteen in two months — almost a man. And I won’t be alone. Antony’s slaves will be with us the entire time, and his father as well.”
Julius finally looked up and stared long and hard, clearly growing frustrated by his son’s unwillingness to drop the matter, even though he had already given his answer.
“I said no, and that is final, Gaius. I will hear no more on this subject. Is that understood?” He waited for Gaius to answer, which he did after a long pause. “Yes father.”2
There was an awkward break between the father and son as Julius stared at Gaius in silence for a moment longer, watching him swirl his spoon around the edges of the stew, clearly disappointed, but not seemingly expecting otherwise.
“And besides, I need you here.”
“Of course, father,” Gaius added before his father was finished speaking.
“There is someone coming in a few days — someone whom I want you to meet. It is important that you be here.”
“Who is coming, father?” Gaius asked, just a bit curious as he kept his head low, still playing with his food as his disappointed thoughts drifted endlessly. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Antony that he couldn’t go with him to Rome.
“He is an old friend of mine. He has come a very long way, just to see you,” Julius finished.
“Me? Why?” Gaius’ interest was finally piqued as he looked up at his father, waiting for him to answer. However, Julius sat still for a long while, seemly contemplating what he was going to say.
“Because…” The two were silent for nearly a full minute as Julius froze before he could complete his sentence. There was much that he seemed to want to say as he gazed into Gaius’ eyes, but for some reason, he held his tongue and returned to the previous subject.
“A day and half, you say, maybe two?”
Gaius’ eyes opened wider with the sudden, unexpected words that seemly flew out from his father’s mouth.
“Yes father. I would be back by the week's end, just after midday. I promise!”
“Rome is a dangerous place. I expect you to keep that in mind and return home once this festival has ended. I will hold Varro responsible if you do not. Is that understood, Gaius?”
Gaius did not need to answer as he leaped from his stool and ran over to his father, throwing his arms around him, hugging him with all his might that his small arms could manage.
“Oh thank you, father. I promise that I will do double my normal chores before I leave,” Gaius said enthusiastically while still holding onto his father.