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provincial capital. To my country-boy eyes, it was the height of glamour and excitement, a bustling metropolis that always seemed to be buzzing with activity as farmers, muleteers, merchants, whores and all sorts of shady characters flocked to the city. Of course, it was not a metropolis, but I had yet to see Rome or Alexandria, another point about which Lucius was only too happy to remind me, seeing it as one more sign of my inadequacy. Just as our party entered the city through the main gate, my father made a loud declamation how this pile of cac was nothing when compared to Rome, going on to relate how his father, who loved him well, took he and his brothers to the eternal city to see none other than Pompey Magnus. His words immediately drew hostile stares from the others around us, and I felt my face turn red from embarrassment, with Phocas turning to give Lucius a warning look as he sat in the back of the wagon, swilling wine and running his mouth, completely ignoring the both of us.
     
    Vibius and his father looked equally embarrassed at this display, and finally I dropped back to the wagon to hiss, “By the Furies, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill you on the spot!”
     
    He opened his mouth to say something back to me, but evidently the look on my face stopped him, because he snapped his mouth shut and remained quiet, sullenly sucking on his wine skin.
     
    Making our way to the Praetor’s residence, this was the site of the dilectus , the dilectus being the official recruiting effort for the Legion. Because it was just after mid-day, there was a line of young men, accompanied by the men who would vouch for them, waiting for their turn in front of the conquistores , the group of officials charged with finding qualified enlistees to enroll in the name of the Praetor. It was in this line that I first heard the name of the Praetor, a name that every citizen of Rome and probably every human being in the known world has heard of by now. It was by way of overhearing a couple of the older men, obviously the fathers of other boys.
     
    “So do you know anything of the new Praetor, since you’re recently arrived from Campania?” asked one of the men, some sort of artisan by the look of him. The man he was asking was dressed as a member of the equestrian class, although it was clear that his toga had seen better days.
     
    The equestrian nodded, and said, “I know of him. Gaius Julius Caesar is his name, of the Julii.”
     
    The artisan shrugged, responding, “Never heard of him. What do you know?”
     
    The equestrian gave a snort of derision. “He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. He’s so ambitious,” he said with a sly grin, “that he supposedly became Nicomede’s ‘woman’ when he was serving under Marcus Thermus in Bithynia.”
     
    This caused the other man to hoot with laughter; it has always been the case that the lower classes love any hint of scandal attached to their social betters.
     
    The equestrian became serious, “Whether or not that’s true, that’s what’s said. But what I do know is that Caesar is well-loved by the people of your class.”
     
    He did not say this as a compliment, yet if the other man took offense, he gave no sign,
     
    “Well,” the artisan grunted, “what I care about most is whether or not he can properly lead a Legion. The gods know in my day it was hit or miss.”
     
    The equestrian looked at the other man in some surprise, “You were in the Legions, citizen?”
     
    “One of Marius’ mules,” the other replied with quiet pride, as well he should have.
     
    The men of Marius’ head count Legions were the first of their kind, and showed their supposed betters that they could fight just as well as anyone in the higher classes, better perhaps. In fact, it was the reforms of Marius that opened the door for those of my class to enter the Legions and perhaps advance their own fortunes. For the rest of the time we stood in line, the equestrian was