Rob - Remember This One?

Cicero’s Letters to His Son Marcus

My variation to this essay is that Marcus is centurion with a detachment from the Ninth Roman Legion. He is stationed in Narbonesis awaiting the troops of Hannibal as they make their way up a pass through the mountains towards the Alps and Italy. On of his soldiers, Legionarre Stewart is griping about the poor conditions of this doomed posting in the middle of nowhere.

It had been nine hours since he had been dispatched to reconnaissance the Mesopotamian troops in the valley below making their way up the face of the mountain. The bright sunshine of morning had turned into a dull gray misting rain. It wasn’t so bad for the officers who had dry, although small, tents to take shelter in. For the average infantry man, the conditions were awful.
No one had counted on the seemingly clear blue water of what they had dubbed Sweetwater Lake to be full of bacteria that immobilized much of the squad with a fever. Those who were sick needed to be brought back to the base camp on the far side of the mountain by the few soldiers who were still well. The whole process took almost three hours to complete. A mission that should have taken twelve hours now looked as though it was going to stretch into fifteen or more.
Brett Stewart sat hunched over a rock still wearing his full armor, grumbling to himself about the weather, the heat, the mission, and life in general. The young trooper did not realize how lucky he was. Most of the troops had discarded their armor in the bad weather because it would rust or cause heat sores from rubbing. His laziness which unnecessarily increased his discomfort probably saved his life.
As he sat disgruntled with the world a forward scout from Hannibal’s army had snuck to within fifty yards of his position. Brett never saw the man or even knew he was there until the arrow pierced his shoulder evoking a primal scream of pain and amazement. Luckily, his battle-hardened commander, Centurion Marcus (the son of a great speaker Cicero) was just a scant few yards away and immediately seized a bow commenced firing on the scout, driving him away down the hill. Marcus quickly detailed five troopers to hunt down the scout and make sure he never returned home. While Brett waited for the medical aid to get up the hill to him, Marcus consoled him and told a story.
It began with Marcus as a student in Athens studying philosophy and mathematics as a young man not much older than trooper Stewart. He had enjoyed the free life of his early twenties and could not overcome his youthful exuberance for life. He admitted to having spent much more time partying than studying his lessons. His father was an important statesman in Rome who had made some political enemies who silenced his attacks on them by having his head severed from his shoulders. Upon learning of his father’s violent death, Marcus had left his studies to mourn the loss. He never fully recovered and after losing all of his worldly possessions when a card shark “shanghaied” him into military service. It was some weeks later when by chance or coincidence he found a scroll hidden among his gear. It was still sealed and bore the sign of his father. How the scroll came to be there he did not know, but he quickly opened it and read the contents. As he read, he realized that these were the last words of wisdom from a father to his son and absorbed them wholly with every synapse in his mind. Marcus said that the wisdom enclosed in the scroll changed the course of his life and through that wisdom he was able to climb in rank, attaining the office of Centurion.
Stewart, now thoroughly eaten raw with curiosity as to what that advise was, asked his commander in a raspy voice “So what exactly did the scroll reveal to you, sir?”
Marcus looked at him and laughed. Then composing himself, he explained “I’m sorry, its just that it was no small amount of information. It took me several hours to read it all and I can’t recite it all to you now. But the basics were rather simple rules of life. Don’t act without considering the effects of your actions. Don’t trust the offer that seems too good to be true because it usually isn’t. Always be truthful to yourself and others. Always make sure that no one in a legal standing is above the law. To fight tyranny and oppression in all its forms as best you can even when there is personal danger involved. Perhaps the hardest to accept was that he advised me to gracefully accept the problems of old age as they came about. These bits of knowledge were not a great revelation. People have lived by those ideals for many centuries and I suspect that they will for many centuries to come. My father knew that it was his last chance to impress upon me the wisdom of his many years and because he felt it was his duty to try to make my life easier. You see, it wasn’t what he said or the way he said it so much as why that made me pay attention. He loved me with all of his heart and it wounded him deeply to know that I was doing nothing with the opportunities I had. He was trying help me stop goofing off at school and make something of myself. I was unable to make the best of my first chance but I did make a successful career for myself in the army. Maybe someday when I will go to Rome and follow in my father’s footsteps, trying to make a differ…….” Marcus’ words were cut short as an arrow burst through his neck. The lone scout had returned and dealt a mortal blow to the legion commander. Brett saw his officer and friend go down gurgling and gasping for air. He saw the archer fumbling with another arrow and facing the five troopers from the hunting detail coming up behind him. In one fluid motion Brett grabbed his pilum and hurled it with the conviction and force of a god. The steel tipped wooden shaft flew straight and true, striking the ill-fated scout at the base of his shoulders and breaking through the front of his chest.
This was the story often regaled at the dinner table to foreign dignitaries and people of the court by Brett Stewart, Praetor of Rome. To his dying day he swore by the last words of his lost comrade which helped him attain his prestigious place in life.


Can you believe I got an A for that poorly-written "5 AM Special" essay? Especially when it was supposed to be a minimum of 5 pages. And don't forget that the objective was to DETAIL and EXPLAIN the virtues individually. LOL