Izates nodded. "Some of those legionaries don't have a drop of Italian blood in them. They're not Romans at all."
The first thing that had struck both men after the plainness of their equipment was how many of the legionaries were tall men with fair hair and ruddy complexions.
"I have never traveled in the north," Zeno said, "but I've seen a good many Gallic and German slaves, and that is what these men look like. But they don't seem to be foreign mercenaries. They serve in the ranks right alongside the men who are plainly of Italian ancestry." He remembered things he had read of the old Romans, how they had conquered other Italian peoples, rewarding their good behavior with partial citizenship, eventually granting them full citizenship and immunity from tribute and taxation. In this way Rome grew stronger, for only citizens could serve in the legions. He spoke of this to his friend.
"What an odd idea," Izates said. "If I moved to Athens, not only would I not be a citizen, but my descendants five hundred years from now would not be citizens, either. They would be foreigners, just like me."
Zeno nodded. "I believe our exclusivity has been a great folly. These people are worthy of study for their political institutions alone."
They walked into the city in search of accommodations. It was far too late in the day to begin their land journey, and there were still arrangements to be made. They would need a pack animal, a servant or two, some traveling supplies. As they looked for an inn, they studied the place.
The locals had the half-stunned look common to people recently conquered, although nobody seemed to be mistreating them. Whole gangs had been impressed to clean the city, rebuild walls and restore temples, paint and plaster. Clearly, the Romans intended to transform Brundisium into a major port city once more.
The legionaries were everywhere. Those off-duty still retained their swords, their military belts and boots. Zeno found the latter accoutrements worthy of note. They were stoutly made of heavy leather, their thick soles densely studded with hobnails. He drew Izates' attention to these and said they must be an innovation as important as any weapon on the battlefield.
"I see no innovation," said the Cynic. "Your own Athenian general Iphicrates issued his men similar boots almost three hundred years ago. Rather, these Romans seem to be adept at adopting things invented by other peoples. Look at them! The helmets and shins of mail are Gallic. Those short swords, unless I am mistaken, are of Spanish origin. The boots they probably got when they fought King Pyrrhus of Epirus one hundred and seventy-odd years back. Everything they have is Greek, Celtic or plundered from some other Italian race."
"And isn't that genius of a sort?" Zeno said. "What other people have shown the discernment to adopt only the best and most useful from other cultures?"
"What sophistry! You astound even me, and I had thought myself beyond shock. Surely you cannot believe this cultural acquisitiveness to be some sort of virtue! I grant you that these days everyone wants to be Greek, and that in this passion for all things Greek they happily adopt the worst aspects of the culture while ignoring the best. But at least those people look to the very light of the world as the only culture worthy of imitation, but look at these Romans. Some of them are wearing trousers!"
Indeed it was a somewhat shocking sight. Many of the soldiers wore, instead of civilized tunics, trousers fitting tightly to the knee.
"I suppose they are practical garments in the cold north," Zeno said. "And the same with those cloaks. The Romans used to wear red battle cloaks, like the Spartans." At least half of the soldiers wore woolen cloaks of deep, forest green, crosshatched with black lines. Zeno knew this to be another Celtic item.
"They have been transforming themselves into barbarians up there," Izates asserted. "No, they were barbarians in the first place. They have become even more primitive barbarians."
"They certainly haven't become any less warlike in the process. Come on, let's find some lodgings."
Like any other port city, Brundisium had no shortage of inns. Near the old theater they located one that was newer and cleaner than the others, and here they established themselves for the evening. At dinner they quizzed the innkeeper about the town's new masters.
"They came out of nowhere," the man told them. "The legion came marching down the Via Appia before we even had word of their coming. There had been rumors that the Romans had returned to Italy and were restoring their old capital, but nobody thought they could move so fast, or in such strength."
"What did the Carthaginians do?" Zeno asked.
The man shrugged. He was a typical southern Italian, olive-skinned with black hair, pudgy in distinct contrast to the lean, soldierly Romans. "There were hardly any Carthaginians here. Just a customs agent and a couple of coast guard ships in the harbor. Even before the shofet's Egyptian war there wasn't much Carthaginian presence in the area."