Dear Father (the letter began):

Things have settled down here in Pietas Iulia, at least somewhat, after the executions.

Most of the troops were far from convinced by the slogans about 'freedom' and 'restoring the Republic' that were bandied about by the followers of the person who will not be named among us. They sounded suspiciously like a return to civil war. Nobody wanted that. So when Nature itself seemed to conspire against the conspirators. . .

Manius reread that paragraph with satisfaction. Dad's going to be proud of how well my writing's improving, he thought. Nice play on words, there.

. . . and when the auspices were so ominous, the troops were more than willing to back those of us who remained loyal to our original oaths to Claudius.

Of course there was fighting. I did my share. But soon the rebellious troops were. . .

He thought. To an observer, this might have looked painful.

. . . persuaded of the injudicious nature of Scrib the conspirators' policy. Our senior officers ordered the ringleaders to be executed. This was done, although some of us aren't sure this was wise, as we had no instructions from Rome. Let us hope that the new governor will be understanding.

We have word that the emperor is satisfied, at least. He has granted the VIIth and XIth legions the title of ' Claudia pia fidelis.' We will wear it proudly.

There has been some speculation among my fellow centurions over the evening wine as to the wisdom of stationing two whole legions so close to Italy itself. These discussions tend to be led by those who are most ambitious, or who fancy themselves experts on the history of our empire. To myself, I call these fellows 'empire bros'. They are not nearly as knowledgeable as they would like others to believe.

For myself, I keep my own counsel and prefer the company of the auxiliaries. From them, I learn more about the country we are in: the people, their language, what places are safe, which to avoid. From them, too, I understand why we are two legions strong here: the bandits are thick in those forests.

Of course, the XIth is now removing to Burnum. We are not sorry to see them go. They were crowding us. They are also less polished than we, and yet somehow more attractive to the local women – possibly because more of them are Dalmatian, Pannonian, or Moesian, and can communicate better. We now have more room to spread out.

Manius gave a lot of thought to the next part of his letter. In fact, he took a long walk to think it over.

I have something serious to say. I have been giving a lot of thought lately to deeper questions of philosophy. Particularly about the gods, and what they may want from us. I have always tried to be a dutiful son and a good Roman. This latest upheaval has made me glad, in fact, that our family's circumstances did not permit me to enter the cursus honorum: I would not have been good at it. Playing the canny politician is not my strength. I would rather be straightforward and loyal than a sly opportunist like Scribo some people best forgotten.

When the crisis came, I found myself appealing silently to whatever powers might help me, my men, and Rome out of this difficulty. To my surprise, it seemed that my mute appeal was answered in astonishing ways. You may have heard rumours: there may be scoffing about the superstitious nature of soldiers and sailors. But I know what I saw. An eagle came out of the mist and tore down the laurels. The standards would not budge. If these were tricks, they were not of human agency.

I would like to know if there is more in the world than what we can see. I would like to know about other worlds. I would like to think that Mother and the ancestors are in happier places. I know that these are mysteries beyond what is taught by those who instructed me in the use of arms, or the history of my people, or in the skills of reading and writing. I suspect that these mysteries are even deeper than what you have read with all your learning.

Yesterday, as I walked beside the sea, I happened to meet a fisherman. He is a simple man from an eastern province, newly arrived. His Greek is rough, almost as bad as mine. After negotiating some fresh fish to be delivered to my troop, I sat down for a talk with him. He had an unusual story to tell.

It seems that this fisherman was taught philosophy by one of their local teachers, who started out as a mere carpenter. Unlike most philosophers, he didn't begin with 'first principles' or 'categories' or even by talking about how the world got to be the way it was. Instead, he talked about belonging and relationships: how people should think of themselves as children of the creating Spirit. How all were children of one Creator. How they should treat one another with love and respect.

I am not explaining this very well. But this fisherman has intrigued me. I shall visit him again. Perhaps, when I know more, I shall be able to tell it better. Anyway, I know you always hoped I would become 'more thoughtful about philosophy' as I grew older, and I wanted you to know that I intend to do just that.

Please do not worry about the situation here in Dalmatia. Things are looking well for us, and I am learning new things every day. Please write and let me know that all is well with you, and if you are in need of anything.

Your son,

Manius Flaccus Pertinax, with the Legio VII Claudia pia fidelis.

DG

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