"But we could be spies!" Zeno protested.
The two. Romans looked at each other as if they had never heard of such an idea. "What if you were?" said the bronze one. "We're not hiding anything." He looked to the other one. "Are we hiding anything?"
The man shrugged his scaled shoulders. "Not that I heard. We've retaken Italy right out in the open. And we're invading Sicily, last I heard. Nothing secret about it." He turned to Zeno. "Go ahead, look all you want." They returned their attention to the ship, having lost all interest in the two Greeks.
"Astonishing!" said Zeno as the two, their bags shouldered, walked up the wharf toward the town. "They aren't concerned about spies. Any petty tyrant in the world would require that we register with the authorities, post bonds, account for our activities and that sort of thing. These Romans seem to fear nothing."
Izates snorted. "Only idiots have no fear, and those two didn't strike me as fools. They are entirely too disingenuous. They put on a show of simplicity to gull strangers. Any soldier knows the value of military intelligence, and these men are soldiers even if they are nothing else."
They came to the plaza and stood for a while watching the soldiers, many of whom were engaged in complex drill. All over the waterfront men, apparently locals, were toiling at the restoration of buildings long neglected by the Carthaginian authorities. The city had declined after the expulsion of the Romans, and the Carthaginians had established their colonial capital at Tarentum, on the southern end of the peninsula.
Zeno looked back and forth from the native Italians to the Roman soldiers. "Do you notice something odd here?"
Izates nodded. "Some of those legionaries don't have a drop of Italian blood in them. They're not Romans at all."
The first thing that had struck both men after the plainness of their equipment was how many of the legionaries were tall men with fair hair and ruddy complexions.
"I have never traveled in the north," Zeno said, "but I've seen a good many Gallic and German slaves, and that is what these men look like. But they don't seem to be foreign mercenaries. They serve in the ranks right alongside the men who are plainly of Italian ancestry." He remembered things he had read of the old Romans, how they had conquered other Italian peoples, rewarding their good behavior with partial citizenship, eventually granting them full citizenship and immunity from tribute and taxation. In this way Rome grew stronger, for only citizens could serve in the legions. He spoke of this to his friend.
"What an odd idea," Izates said. "If I moved to Athens, not only would I not be a citizen, but my descendants five hundred years from now would not be citizens, either. They would be foreigners, just like me."
Zeno nodded. "I believe our exclusivity has been a great folly. These people are worthy of study for their political institutions alone."
They walked into the city in search of accommodations. It was far too late in the day to begin their land journey, and there were still arrangements to be made. They would need a pack animal, a servant or two, some traveling supplies. As they looked for an inn, they studied the place.
The locals had the half-stunned look common to people recently conquered, although nobody seemed to be mistreating them. Whole gangs had been impressed to clean the city, rebuild walls and restore temples, paint and plaster. Clearly, the Romans intended to transform Brundisium into a major port city once more.
The legionaries were everywhere. Those off-duty still retained their swords, their military belts and boots. Zeno found the latter accoutrements worthy of note. They were stoutly made of heavy leather, their thick soles densely studded with hobnails. He drew Izates' attention to these and said they must be an innovation as important as any weapon on the battlefield.
"I see no innovation," said the Cynic. "Your own Athenian general Iphicrates issued his men similar boots almost three hundred years ago. Rather, these Romans seem to be adept at adopting things invented by other peoples. Look at them! The helmets and shins of mail are Gallic. Those short swords, unless I am mistaken, are of Spanish origin. The boots they probably got when they fought King Pyrrhus of Epirus one hundred and seventy-odd years back. Everything they have is Greek, Celtic or plundered from some other Italian race."
"And isn't that genius of a sort?" Zeno said. "What other people have shown the discernment to adopt only the best and most useful from other cultures?"
"What sophistry! You astound even me, and I had thought myself beyond shock. Surely you cannot believe this cultural acquisitiveness to be some sort of virtue! I grant you that these days everyone wants to be Greek, and that in this passion for all things Greek they happily adopt the worst aspects of the culture while ignoring the best. But at least those people look to the very light of the world as the only culture worthy of imitation, but look at these Romans. Some of them are wearing trousers!"
Indeed it was a somewhat shocking sight. Many of the soldiers wore, instead of civilized tunics, trousers fitting tightly to the knee.
"I suppose they are practical garments in the cold north," Zeno said. "And the same with those cloaks. The Romans used to wear red battle cloaks, like the Spartans." At least half of the soldiers wore woolen cloaks of deep, forest green, crosshatched with black lines. Zeno knew this to be another Celtic item.
"They have been transforming themselves into barbarians up there," Izates asserted. "No, they were barbarians in the first place. They have become even more primitive barbarians."
"They certainly haven't become any less warlike in the process. Come on, let's find some lodgings."
Like any other port city, Brundisium had no shortage of inns. Near the old theater they located one that was newer and cleaner than the others, and here they established themselves for the evening. At dinner they quizzed the innkeeper about the town's new masters.
"They came out of nowhere," the man told them. "The legion came marching down the Via Appia before we even had word of their coming. There had been rumors that the Romans had returned to Italy and were restoring their old capital, but nobody thought they could move so fast, or in such strength."
"What did the Carthaginians do?" Zeno asked.
The man shrugged. He was a typical southern Italian, olive-skinned with black hair, pudgy in distinct contrast to the lean, soldierly Romans. "There were hardly any Carthaginians here. Just a customs agent and a couple of coast guard ships in the harbor. Even before the shofet's Egyptian war there wasn't much Carthaginian presence in the area."
"They just walked in without a fight?" Izates asked.
"What was anyone going to do?" the landlord said. "Who is going to stop six thousand armed men? The city guard?" He laughed ruefully. "They act like the lords of the earth, and just now no one is going to dispute it with them."
Later Zeno quizzed the girl who brought them their food and wine. She was a pretty creature of about sixteen and spoke the sailor's Greek common to every port town.
"The Roman soldiers are real men," she said in a low voice, glancing about to make sure she was not overheard. "Not like the males around here. All the men here complain that the Romans treat them with contempt, but why shouldn't they, is what I ask. Carthage has run this place for so long that everyone's forgotten how to fight. Hardly a man in Italy has ever picked up a sword."
She brushed her coarse hair back from her face. "I'll tell you something else: There was no looting or rape or any other sort of misbehavior, not at all like when the shofet's hired marines come to town. The Romans took over the running of the place and quartered their troops, but they don't pick up a leek that they don't pay for and they leave even the slave girls and boys strictly alone. They just visit the working girls and the lupanars and they pay for the service."