Read Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul for Free Online Page A

completely respectful of the artisan, and indeed began plying him with questions about Gaius Marius.
     
    Such was the nature of the conversations all along the line as we shuffled slowly towards the entrance to the building, which even I could see was not much more than a large villa. It served as the headquarters and the living space for the Praetor sent by Rome to govern the province, and as I was to learn, carries the same name as the headquarters tent of a Roman military camp, the Praetorium . While we waited, we saw much bustling about, with couriers coming and going, jumping from their horses to walk quickly into the building, then reappearing in a matter of moments, their dispatch bag full, either of answers to the original dispatch they had delivered, or some sort of counter-orders or further questions, or at least so I imagined. Phocas was monitoring Lucius carefully, to ensure that while he was sated enough to be lucid and appear to have all of his faculties, my father was not allowed to render himself insensible. With the day passing and the sun sinking lower, I began to worry that we would be out of luck since my father had not remained this sober for this long in some time, and despite my threats I was worried that he would bring ruin to all Vibius and I had planned because of his thirst. Finally, it became our turn; Vibius and his father would follow us, and I took my father by the elbow, applying extra pressure just before the impatient guard made a comment, giving him a look that was meant to convey exactly what awaited him if he failed. His fear was palpable, but he nodded his head and we entered the building.
     
    There were a series of tables, where not one but three conquistores were actually standing, each behind a slave who was working as a scribe, writing down the necessary information dictated to them by the conquistores . The third table to the farthest side of the room was empty, and the conquistore behind it waved to us impatiently.
     
    “You’re here to enlist no doubt,” he said briskly, but I could only nod dumbly. Turning to my father, the official spoke just as briskly, “And you’re here to swear to his citizenship and age, aren’t you?”
     
    For a moment, my father did not speak, and my heart began to hammer even harder. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see his lips working but nothing came out.
     
    Finally, his words came in a hoarse whisper, “Yes your Excellency.”
     
    Obviously unimpressed with my father’s oratory skills, the conquistore , a middle-aged man wearing a toga with the badge of his office worn around his neck, snapped, “Out with it, citizen. Who are you?”
     
    Finally given a question he could answer, my father replied, with just a hint of pride, “I am Lucius Pomponius Pullus, citizen of Rome and a member of the tribe Pupinia, of the gens of the Pomponii.”
     
    Nodding, the conquistore pointed at me, and asked, “This is your son? Is he the one joining the Legion?”
     
    I spoke up with the rehearsed answer that we were told to give by Cyclops when he explained the process to us.
     
    “Yes, I am Titus Pomponius Pullus, also a citizen of Rome by virtue of my father and his father and grandfathers before him. I am also of the gens of the Pomponii, and my mother was a citizen as well, of the tribe Galeria, and of the gens of the Asinia.”
     
    The conquistore indicated to his scribe to write down the appropriate information.
     
    Once completed, the conquistore looked at Lucius and asked, “And his age?”
     
    Here was the moment of truth; we had rehearsed this many times. As you know, gentle reader, the years of the birth of Roman citizens are recorded by the number of years from the founding of Rome and the Consuls for that year. It had been drilled into me that I was born in the year of the Consulship of Publius Servilius Vatia and Appius Claudius Pulcher but now in order to perpetrate this fiction, we were forced to consult the