Northern Italy — 57 BC
The road stretched like a dusty scar between low hills, scattered villas, and fields that grew increasingly lifeless. Sextus walked with the morning sun at his back and a cloth bag slung over his shoulder. Inside were a piece of hard bread, a strip of dry cheese, and a small terracotta figurine his mother had tucked away without telling him. He found it at dusk, resting beneath a cork oak. It was Mercury, the god of travelers. He said nothing when he saw it, but kept it carefully.
The group of recruits was small. Some were boys his age, others older men, hardened, perhaps veterans without land seeking a second chance. Few words were exchanged. Each walked deep in thought, as if afraid to speak aloud what awaited them. A soldier mounted on a mule—clearly a veteran—escorted them with little interest.
They passed through villages where women watched them with pity or contempt. In one, a child ran alongside and shouted:
"Go die for Rome!"
One of the recruits threw a stone that missed. The boy ran off laughing.
Sextus thought of his mother. Whether she had lit the fire that morning, whether she had gone out to gather herbs. He thought also of his father, of his dry face, his silence. And he wondered if the man had once done the same in his youth. Rome felt distant, but the legion… the legion was already within him.
At a stop by a small stream, a young man with a southern accent sat beside him.
"First time?" he asked.
Sextus nodded.
"Same here. They say training kills you before the enemy does.""Then we'll survive the worst of the two," Sextus replied, without much conviction.
On the fifth day, they saw the standards in the distance. A recruitment camp under construction, with wooden palisades and leather tents lined up with precision. At the entrance stood a large stone pedestal supporting a bronze eagle. It wasn't their legion's—not yet—but it still commanded awe.
The soldier on the mule dismounted. His voice, for the first time, was firm:
"Here begins your training. Here you stop being free men. Here you will learn to obey, to kill… or to die. Welcome to Caesar's camp."
Sextus swallowed. The ground beneath his feet felt the same, but the air already smelled of iron, sweat, and restrained screams. He took one step toward the palisade. Then another.
And he didn't look back.