Faber quisque fortunae suae.
Each man (is) the maker of his own fortune.
Synopsis: Elsewhere in the massive training camp of Capua, men of noble birth and equiline standing were be prepared for their duty to the state. Landowning status, a family of long history or the claim to Patrician birth caused them to be seen as the very elite of Roman society, thus thrust to the front lines of command regardless of talent or ability. This sometimes had disastrous effects on the leadership and command of the Legions in the field, and some of those who wished to rid Rome of the stratified social ladder were oft stymied by the general conservatism of the Roman mind Senate. Others saw the path to salvation in training those young elites so thoroughly that mistakes could be rendered as few and far between. One such man was the veteran commander Quintus Norbanus...
The young men were ushered into the courtyard of the complex, situated on the far extent of Capua, the walls of which shone whiter than snow and glared brightly in the strong morning light. They had come from all over the countryside, from as far as Sicily, Rhegium, the north-western colony of Massilia, even from the far reaches of the northern Roman territory, and from the great city itself, all young men of noble or Equine class, brought together for special training before they took their commands in some far distant land or post.
The courtyard, as they entered, was wider in fact that it appeared from the walled street entrance, lines of neat little bushes perfectly trimmed, and not a blade of grass or a stone out of place in the perfectly manicured square.
Waiting for them was a man of about 50/60 years, with a heavy set, ruddy face and piercing grey eyes, who took them all in sternly yet without undue judgement, sizing each young lad up and weighing their characters in his glance. Smiling belatedly, he was pleased with what he saw.
Whatever thoughts and ideas they had brought with them up until that moment were suddenly brought, lining up under the instruction of another equally weathered adjutant with a voice that carried right through their bones, and they waited quietly for the distinguished looking officer to start his welcoming address.
‘Men, you have been brought here for to be trained as the officer elite of our great city, a burden of heavy duty and responsibility that will weigh upon your shoulders for many of your adult years. In this very same building, many great Generals and officers were trained, and it is thanks to the lessons learned here that we, as Romans, still thrive and excel on the field of battle.
Most of you have never experienced life at the frontiers as of yet, but within a very short time you will be sent to lead your nation’s soldiers and fulfil your duty as officers to the Consuls of Rome. There is much to learn here, and precious little time, so listen well and take into consideration every detail that in shown to you.
We will check your grasp of military knowledge and understanding of all the fundamental duties that may be required of you, logistics, accounting, quartermaster-ship, tactics, strategy, engineering, command and control, troop training. Every aspect of your daily life as a functioning Roman officer will be scrutinized and examined here, and once you leave these hallowed walls, much will be expected of you.
Take this time to learn from your seniors. Every officer here has been in the field for at least 15 years; each is a veteran in their own right and should be respected as such. Be humble, for you know little and they know much.
Those that were trained here before you look down on your from these walls. The Consul Quintus, the Great Subduer Tiberius, the Pro-Consul Decimus Nero, the current Consul Secundus. The names are too many to list. Remember their deeds and strive to excel them in both honour and deed.
Tonight, take the time to meet all of your fellow recruits, for tomorrow you will be exercised until you drop. So rest well, and prepare for the morrow. There is much to accomplish.’
With that, the officer without a name turned and left the square, the steadiness of his gait one of a man that had once wielded great power. The way the other officers that had assembled deferred to him also was a sign that this was indeed somebody. The young cadets murmured to themselves as to his possible identity, and eventually word filtered down that this was indeed the famous Norbanus of the Iberian campaigns, recently retired back to Rome and still sporting the dark tan that had burned into him over the years of service there, making his fit and trim body look even stronger. He had rejected a position in the Senate for now, instead choosing to focus his time and energy on the next generation of officer material, wanting to ensure that the quality of fighting spirit did not diminish, even hoping that he could raise it even higher.
The men were staring fixedly at the sand box in front of them. Every day for weeks they had studied some battle or other, some stretching as a far back as Thermopylae and Gaugamela, with the wars of the Greeks over the Persians, the Spartans over Athens, the battles against Pyrrhus and even the wars against Hannibal and Hasdrubal. Each one, Norbanus guided them through step by step, explaining in incredible detail and showing that he too, knew these other Generals as if they had fought with him, side by side, on some foreign shore.
Today was Gaugamela, how Alexander had taken a force of some 35,000/ 40,000 Greeks and destroyed an army ten times its size, purely by organization, timing and sheer fighting spirit.
The young men listened, spellbound by his stories, eyes filled with light as they tried to imagine that they too had been there and seen the battle’s developments with their own very eyes. Each day, he chose another student to retell the previous day’s lesson and summarize what had been the main lessons of the battle, and then summarize for them how tactics and strategies had changed because of the outcome.
As he listened to the young men asking questions and being guided by the other veterans into the complexities of the battle, he couldn’t help but wonder what they would be capable of if put in the very same position. He wanted each and every one of them to understand that war was never static; constantly changing and transforming in nature, each new situation calling for another resource from the depths of the human mind in order to overcome a new obstacle.
Norbanus still thought of his years of service, the hot Iberian sun that had beaten down on him mercilessly on his campaigns of subjugation, and of the two brothers Sextus and Titus that he had managed to steer away from certain demise and ill repute, turning them both into fine officers that would perhaps never leave their new home for Rome again.
In his spare moments, those recruits that were brave enough plagued him with more questions, wanting to know about this battle and that, were the Iberians really as fierce as they had been told? and other such ponderings that he handled with patience and aplomb.
It was in fact the perfect place for him to be, where he could help the most and remain thankfully away from the political turmoil that was Rome.
The one story that they all wanted to here was his younger days with the Consul, Libo, then for Septimus Otacilius Crassus, and his son, Publius, in Iberia, where they fought the armies of Carthage to a bloody standstill, and then eventually fought off the persistent Celt-Iberians.
It was the officer Norbanus’ stories as a young man that enthralled them the most, for perhaps they saw themselves as him, fighting back wave after wave of barbarian hordes, huge Gallic armies that never seemed to relent without a fight, and where he had put himself at risk time and time again for the glory of Rome.
Libo had been a tough commander, and had fostered in the young Norbanus a sense of responsibility that stretched way beyond his ears and permeated his thoughts even now. He had also beaten out of him his earlier sense of reckless competition that at one battle had risked both his very life and those other cavalrymen beneath his charge. Must chastened, he had survive that day, and had since sought to imbibe in all of his students a sense of camaraderie that went beyond selfish desires for fame and glory. But it was an uphill struggle….
He saw the fierce competitiveness that burned in some of the young men’s eyes, and hoped against hope that they would live long enough and grow wise enough to see the day where dreams became reality. So many young men like these graced his memory, so many of whom now lay as so much dust, scattered across the width and breadth of the burgeoning Empire.
For him, each day was full of memories, for the men that trained under him, so many dreams. He watched them train every day, discuss and listen to the other veterans who showed them their particular area of expertise, then check that the essence of their knowledge had been digested.
Some of the recruits he grew to speak to as sons, others, the foolish, remained aloof and adrift, stuck in their lofty perception as being one of the privileged upper echelons, the days lessons falling on deaf ears, to haunt them at some later date and time, in some perilous moment, when the missing information would come back to haunt them. Most he would see leave as more competent leaders, others left, a danger to themselves and the office that they would hold. Pride, he knew, was a double edged sword.
He saw them come, he saw them go. But he left his indelible mark on every one of them, in one way or other.
They were sitting in the mess hall, at the end of their training and all impatient to head out into the steadily growing empire that was Rome. The young men were all a bit drunk, the first wine they had partaken in many months, it of course went straight to their heads and many sat, red faced, cherubic and happy.
Norbanus chose that moment to come and sit with them, and told the assembled men that he had one last piece of wisdom to share with them before they left his charge. As the young warriors quietened down, Norbanus spoke.
‘You all want to know the meaning of honour and loyalty, and many of you here already think that you have the answer. But one day, perhaps in the not too distant future, the very essence of your being will be called into question.
The men, and the Centurions will want to look up to you, and they will expect you to stand with them until they emerge triumphant, or fall. On that day, you will know what courage is. For now, I will tell you the story of Numerius Aufidius Orestes and the 78 maniples that fought off a nation…..'
To be continued.....
S.P.Q.R. - Senatus Populusque Romanus
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Re: S.p.q.r.
Originally Posted by daneboy
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