53. What Did They Ever Do for Us?

Living a Roman life in my head.

Image: my Ward

I feel whole today. Everything finally pulling in the same direction. Had Coco Pops for breakfast. Proper Kellogg’s ones. Read an article in between mouthfuls that said all men daydream about the Romans.

Ridiculous. Childish. I don’t.

Decided to go for a walk. Stretch my legs. Think about where I’m at. Get my internal house in order. No offers on the flat yet.

It was nice out. Until I went through an underpass that smelled of disinfectant and vomit. Reminded me of school. Sitting in the computer room, staring at the huge beige monitors. Everyone secretly playing Age of Empires.

A van rattled past. Caught sight of myself in the reflection. Didn’t look much like the me in my head. It was older. Saggier.

Wondered what I’d look like as a Roman. What I’d do. Shield up, sandals slapping the road. A line of men marching with me. Helmets catching the light, spears tapping the ground in time.

Saw a man painting his fence green. He was really going for it, brush loaded way too thick. It was flying everywhere. He’d ruined his shoes.

Maybe I’d be a builder. Digging the ditches, raising the roads, hammering stone into place. Doesn’t sound so bad. Honest work. Dig here, lift that, move it there. Fix that hole. Make something straight and solid.

I stopped for lunch at a pub I hadn’t been to before. A bit out of town. Modern refurb made to look traditional. Had a real fireplace and brass horseshoes nailed up.

What did the Romans eat? Bread, surely. Hard bread. Olives, sour wine. No sandwiches. Grapes? They always seem to be eating grapes in the movies. In between fighting and orgies.

Ordered a ploughman’s and a non-alcoholic wine. The bread came warm. Cheese was sharp. Pickle vinegary in the right way. Through the window, I watched tractors roll by, slow and deliberate. Massive wheels dragging the road with them.

Maybe I would have been on the front line. Trudging to strange and glorious new worlds in my sandals and silver. A simple existence. No thought. Wake, eat, march, fight.

A girl crossing at the lights caught my eye. She had her hair tied up. For a split second, I thought it was Jadyn.

Doubt I’d be a General. Not at first, anyway. I’d make my own path up. As others fell, I’d be standing. Shield steady. Keeping the line. Bloody sword in my hand.

Word would spread from one legion to the next. Stories about the man who didn’t hesitate. Who never broke rank. They’d start to chant my name before battle. Demand I lead.

What I’d give to really see Jadyn again. Live the life that was taken away from us. Long evenings doing nothing together. Watching sunsets, holding hands.

Wouldn’t fancy going north, to the edge of the empire. Cold stone walls, endless moors. Rain soaking into my leather straps. Always longing for my beautiful Domina back home.

But I’d do my time. For the glory of Rome. And when I’d earned a scar or two, when my legend had spread around the kingdom, they’d send me to a villa in the sun to retire.

My own land. Dusty, full of olive trees and grape vines. Guards at the gate who’d nod at me with awe and respect.

And she’d be there waiting for me. White gown flowing in the breeze. Holding out her hand.

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next: 54. A Clear Winia

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