I TELL STORIES

The Second Sun

I

October, 312 CE

Urbs, Capital of the Roman Empire

Mules were curious creatures.

Helvétius Lupis admired both the two-legged and four-legged. He was of the two-legged variety, learning to carry half his weight for twenty miles a day, an expert at building roads, aqueducts, and fortifications, and how to defeat the enemies of Rome. He was in his early forties, entering the prime of his career, confident with a wiry build, like a runner used to exploring long distances. His skills rose him through the ranks to become Praefectus Castrorum of Legio XV and its ten cohorts, second only to the strutting officers who bought their ranks. He let allure to them, and they left strategy and tactics to him and the five thousand men under his command. In his whole legio, only he wore the commander’s tunic featuring three blue bands around the wool fabric above his wrists.

Four-legged mules seemed to have no cares in the world other than eating brush and tough grasses, drinking whatever water was available, dropping round clods of manure without the slightest concern about where they were or what they were doing, and like their comrade two-legged variety, carrying half their weight in equipment. Every two-legged mule with Lupis was happy to have those four-legged mules and went out of their way to take loving care of them.

Lupis’ mules were loaded with tents and equipment, grazing in a vacant field abutting the capital of Rome’s massive Aurelian wall. They were just north of the Via Nomentana Gate, named for a town it led to some fifteen miles east. His men were laying out proper lines for their campsite. After walking sixteen miles with mules, setting up an encampment in the sun would be tedious but rewarding labor.

On the opposite berm of the highway was a wide grassy strip fronting a massive brick fortification extending from the city wall known as the Castra Praetoria. It was the military barracks for 10,000 highly trained soldiers. Locals called it the Scorpions’ Den because it was home to the Praetorian Guard carrying shields emblazoned with scorpions and lightning bolts. It was also Emperor Maxentius’ personal legio.

Numerous vendor wagons were packed along Castra Praetoria’s grassy apron, their agitated owners pacing back and forth in evident discontent. It was nearing midday, and a growing collection of city dwellers was talking with vendors shaking their heads. Hands punched the air as if in protest.