Steal My Stuff: A Boy and His Cornelius

Incredible, that it was just about twenty years ago.

Back at the beginning of 1988, a touch more naïve than I am now, I read a brief article in a bookstore's newsletter, where in an interview a published author advised aspiring writers to write at least a page a day, no matter what.

I knew I was up to that challenge. And come to think of it, with my opening up this-here blog, I'm doing just that now – missed almost no days, although the quality of my output remains questionable. I mentioned in an email/comment to one of my recent commenters that one of several objectives to this blog is simply to continue practicing the craft. It can't hurt; my income doesn't depend on it; and not enough people read it to wreck any later good reputation I may actually scrape together… before diving head-first into the monastery/seminary, that is.

Anyway, back in January of '88 I decided to take that writer's challenge, and for a month or so, just about every evening after work I kicked out a page or two of widely varying copy – some of it not so bad. Following is one of those pieces; it's so far the only bit of fiction I've set in the Roman empire, even though I really like that era of history.

I suppose you can steal this stuff if you'd like. I found myself quickly growing fond of that adolescent's goat Cornelius (there's a Latin pun in his name), but if you can do more with him than I started out with (and never finished or even touched again since), have at it – Steal My Stuff!

I grabbed him by one of his horns as the soldiers thundered past. I watched them go; there was some strange mixture of fear and awe holding me very still. I had felt this before only in climbing a mountain, once: walking through the trees, I found the ground ended a short distance away, and in its place… open air, a great chasm I had stumbled upon and almost into. Clutching a thick branch, I looked over the broad expanse until my heart slowed own. A beautiful view… and so dangerous to the unanticipating foot. Never climb a mountain alone.

The soldiers were able horsemen, a skill I would always envy. While I could barely hang on while hoping the beast not jump into a lake, here these men rode in full battle-gear: armored vests on their muscled bodies, leather breeches protecting their legs from riding-chafe, swords unseen but surely sheathed at the other side, shield and spears slung within easy reach – All this made for clatter that was amplified to a nearly thunderous din by the horses' galloping hooves; no wonder Cornelius here was skittish. [marginal note: forgot helmets!]

At last the company had passed over the Martus' hill. I had counted sixty, riding two abreast. Wherever they were headed, there must be something serious; Roman cavalry almost never practiced maneuvers and formations in this farm-country.

I cuffed Cornelius and raced him back to the barn, where I tied him before rushing into the house. "Mother! Soldiers! They – " I paused to catch my breath. "Sixty or more of them, headed toward Stolecia – "

Mother brushed her hands off onto her apron, then hurried out the door. The dust-cloud had already settled, though the thud of hoofs echoed still in my head." Going east, you said?" Mother asked. "That must be part of the new Phollitto garrison."

"The what? How long has the army had a camp in Phollitto?"

"It's not in Phollitto," she corrected, as we turned back into the kitchen. "They're stationed just outside town; it looks as though they'll be camped there a good while yet too. Alicia Botani says they're very experienced men; no cadets among them. She tells me they're quite friendly, too, not like some of your veterans."

I didn't know what to make of this, since it was all news to me. But I was feeling thrilled by the thought of an entire castrum within a day's walk of home.

I loaded the oven before I spoke further. Once the fire was going well, I ventured, "I wonder if they'll be taking any recruits."

"Get on now! Those aren't recruiters, or horsemen-trainers! They're a fighting garrison; heaven knows this place hasn't had its share of protection – you heard about the German bands that have been hitting the towns up in the hills! My guess is that somebody with a lot of gold to distribute was getting nervous at all the rumors going 'round, about raiders. Or invaders."

"Mother, if they're going to stay a while, they will be looking for recruits! Or at least some older boys to help the soldiers in camp – "

"Then they'll hardly be in need of your help! Gods preserve us, boy; you don't do your chores here… why should you be able to sweep up horsesh!t for soldiers?"

She smiled to lighten her words, and clasped my arm. "You're a good son, and a mother could hardly ask for better. But you're more suited to farm work than shield-polishing; I don't see any of your uncle Antonios in you, thank the stars. No, man's made to till the earth, not go a-warring in barbarian countries…"

She rambled on like that, in and out of my hearing, while I brought in more wood and water. While she fixed dinner for all of us, I fed the animals and finished cleaning out their stalls, which would have been done long since, had I not been chasing that goat over half this province.

My mind was boiling! If those horsemen had been sent to protect some nobles as Mother suspected, then someone high up in the military ranks must have reason to suspect an attack on the town, or its farmlands. No, most likely it was a nervous landowner, afraid of exaggerated stories.

Suddenly I thought of Heracles. I had to go see him sometime soon! Why, if anything was up, he might be in on it – whether bribery of a general or senator, or even outfitting the garrison himself. I could picture his wicked grin while he sat pinching the soldiers' women, or pounding a wine-mug at an officers' table. That lovable scoundrel might possibly sleep a couple officers over in his own home! What a time to drop in unannounced –

Cornelius giggled at me as I entered his stall, and butted at me playfully. I rubbed him between his horns. "You troublemaker – I spend more time tracking you down or fixing your stall than doing anything I’m supposed to do! Now, if you can just stay out of mischief a couple days while I drop in on Heracles Divinus, I might just get to introduce myself to a few officers. By the teeth of Mars, do I want to get out and see the rest of the Empire! Even just to Rome, to the shops and temples and market!"

The crazy goat decided to help me out with another turd; I shoveled it out of the stall and looked at him. "When are you going to learn how to just sh!t in a hole like everybody else? Hell, you already sh!t for five; the rest of us could take off a week and nobody'd notice."

[ (The fragment ends here.) Followup, almost ten years (!) since I originally posted the above: Sorry, folks – I withdraw the offer to "Steal My Stuff!" on this piece. Daughter Two nudged me into rewriting a piece I'd submitted for credit in college [mumble] years ago… and it's been shaping up into a nice, hefty novel – and I'm going to fold this fragment into it. Not to sweat, though, loyal reader or two – I have lots more lousy output you're welcome to…]