614 Ab Urbe Condita was a year I remember very well, for it was the year that my father died and, in contrast, my life changed for the better.
Although he was one of the Roman ambassadors to Dacia, he was no more exempt from military service than any other, my father that is, having to still serve in his ala millaria of Thracian horsemen when it was ordered of him. Such a situation arose when Titus Caesar took it upon himself to invade the reduced and weakened lands of the Pontic Kingdom, a now small and poverty-stricken nation, buffered and battered from every side of its borders.
The green and raw recruits of the Pontic armies soon turning to hardened and cynical men as they fought back wave after wave of Armenian interlopers since before we Romans had even arrived in Asia Minor. These were the sort of men that my father, and the Roman forces advancing from the west, now had to face. These were not mere boys, effeminate Greeks or wild Gauls, these were soldiers forming part of an army influenced heavily by the Hellenistic Kingdoms on its borders and who had fought off numberless invasions by those who would seek to take their sovereignty over their lands.
It was by one such soldier, another faceless soul in a sea of armoured bodies, in the midst of a raging battle beneath the walls of Amaseia, that he was struck in the front by the penetrating and death-dealing blade of a sarissa. The scale cuirass he wore provided no protection, the shield he held being unable to turn aside the heart-seeking blade, and that faceless figure amongst the ranks of his comrades leaving another Roman child without a father and a family without a paterfamilias to guide them.
His body was returned that same month, all the proper funeral rites given to him and his body burnt upon a high-rising pyre, that his spirit may fly to his ancestors and those ancestors of his own father. Such a thing made me wonder, at that moment, about the religion of my forefathers and, as it was to be, I did not have long to wait for a great number of my questions about my bloodline to be answered. I shall write more of this in the future, for it truly was a most glorious and spectacular occasion.
I, along with my entire family, was to be taken into the guardianship of my grandfather, or so my fathers will proclaimed. He had never really liked his brother and now, even in death, he snuffed him. Indeed, all our property, acquired wealth, and such became grandfathers through the right of tutela.
Before long I found myself, along with my mother and relations, making our way to the villa of my childhood to see our grandfather. It was a long journey, as it had always been, from our homestead in the province of Thracia to the villa of my grandfather in Italia, but as it had also always been it was more than worth it.
When we arrived we were greeted by Marcus, seventy-three years old and still looking as strong as a man half his age, an almost immortal and unchanging figure. My eight year old eyes lit up to behold him, though he was dressed in but a simple tunic and the chequered cloak he almost always wore, always having been more of a father-figure to me than my own.
It is true, Diuzenes, my father by blood and by birth, had always attempted to emulate the easy mannerisms and casualness of his own sire, but he had ended up failing when his work continued to take him away from us and we four children were left with nothing and no-one but our mother, tutor and studies.
“Welcome,” the sturdy looking figure bad us, his skin wrinkled in places and livid pink scars easily visible upon his slightly tanned flesh, “welcome to my home. You shall be as family to me, for the remainder of my days at least.”
We were guided into his villa with a smile, well-fed and well treated slaves looking up at us and giving their own smiles, something I had very rarely seen any slave do until then. I was only eight, and had no concept of what slavery or being an owner of slaves actually entailed. One day, though, I would find out...
Chunks of freshly baked bread were stuffed into our hands, dishes from all over the Roman Empire swept to and from our table in a continuous feast of gluttony and unabashed groping. Things appeared at that table that I had never even seen before, let alone tasted, dead creatures from as far away as the Hindu Kush and as close as the farmstead up the road. When it was over, and I still lick my lips to this day when I remember, I do not believe any, even the Gods themselves, could have had or ever has had a better welcoming into another's home.
Over the next few months, as I informed my grandfather of everything that my own father had taught me, or had me taught, he shook his head of shaggy white hair and tutted to himself.
“There are only three things a man needs in this world to become great, young Borbrentas, and those are a sword, a strong arm, and the ability to wield both as one. If you have these three things, then no honourable man will ever be able to stop you. You will be tested, however, by cowards that use the bow from afar or by those drivel-ridden fools who would use these abstract concepts of politics and laws against you.”
From the time that he was able, as soon as he could, with my mothers permission, he began instructing me in the ways of war and military matters. Both subjects and activities that my own father had never broached with me, too afraid, I think, that I may run away and join the army and end up as he had.
I learnt how to wield a gladius, how to throw a pilum and how to fight with sword and shield, my young mind flaring up with images of legendary heroes and being able to see myself as a Herculean figure smashing my enemies asunder with each blow of my mighty arm and weapon. It was a dream, or a vision, that never left me, nay, not even when I discovered the true realities of violence, fighting and war.
As I swear I could not have learnt from a better teacher, I also swear that I could not have taken to my training and instruction in a better environment than I was able to in those early years of my life.
Grandfather owned a number of properties, some even in the provinces, though his two favourite ones were the insulae in Roma itself, where he had raised his family and that my father had often spoken of with great fondness, and the country villa in which my family resided and where grandfather now spent most of his time after the death of his wife, eldest servant, a Greek I believe, and now one of his twin sons.
It was, I can honestly say, one of the things which appealed to me about the Romans and the society I had been born into, a structure born of my fathers fathers vast wealth accumulated over his many years of life both in and out of the military.
The countryside house had everything a Roman noble or well-to-do provincial could ever want!
The many bedrooms and the high-rising atrium for greetings guests, the expansive and mosaic floored dining rooms, the lush garden and wide courtyard, and, of course, the hypocaust system for heating the floor during the cold winter months. A sight for young eyes is what it was, my mind reeling against what I saw of the glories of the Roman Empire around me and, in contrast, what my grandfather told me of the land from which he came, with its round huts and cattle-pens and freezing cold winters.
They were happy times, I will not lie, getting up in the early morning and strolling through the garden until I reached a storage hut where my grandfather kept all of his less-used items. From there, I would enter and bring out his gladius and his centurions armour, gathering what I needed to polish and scrub it until it shone in the sunlight and always I yearned to have something in my possession just like that which I held.
Days proceeded with instruction in all manner of things, those to do with war and those to do with other things, such as the facts of life. Prayer played an important part in my grandfathers life, especially worship of the ancestors and the deities of his homeland to the north-east where my mother was from and my grandfather had been birthed. He showed me how to properly sacrifice goats, hares and even bullocks, the proper position of supplication to the Gods, and a number of words and rituals widely known and widely used across the empire.
No doubt I bore you with such ramblings, so I shall stop here, but remember that, to the mind of an eight year old, everything was immense and magical. Nothing was trivial then, and nothing ever is in life, now I must return to my lunch before it gets cold and then take a rest.
One last thing, before I forget, my childhood memories overshadowing more important events in my mind.
In the winter of 612 A.U.C, the Seleucid Empire, recognising the might of the Roman Empire, became a Roman protectorate for a substantial amount of coin. It was a decision made not lightly by Publius Caesar and the Senate of Roma, hoping that with Roman financial assistance and with our forces spread over many frontiers, that the Seleucids would be able to re-build their armies and hold off the Armenians and Parthians from ever nearing our Syrian holdings or those in Asia Minor.
There were also rebellious provinces in the empire of Alexander's successor, and Publius immediately set about gathering and organising a Roman vexillatio, supported by auxiliary forces and accompanied by a diplomat, to retake these provinces in the name of the Seleucid Empire.
Palmyrene, puppets to the Parthians as they were, were to remain untouched...for now.
In the summer of 614 A.U.C, Parthia, expanding too far north into vast grassy steppes that were not theirs to possess, became embroiled in a war with the Sarmatian peoples and their nomadic subject tribes. All was to the good of Rome.
Now, my suckling pig cannot wait any longer.
- B. M. Laenas
[RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [COMPLETE]
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Originally Posted by Diomede
very eager to see what you wip out of your quill and subscribed! 
