[Hispania Ulterior, Corduba, 17th of November 64 BCE]
Corduba lay sprawled beneath the low sun, its stone streets catching the last amber light of the day. The city hummed with life: merchants closing their stalls, children darting between passersby, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from ovens mingling with the tang of the nearby river.
Wide flagstone streets bore the deep ruts of wagon wheels, polished smooth by countless travelers and carts carrying goods from distant provinces.
Lamps flickered in front of taverns and tabernae, casting soft pools of golden light that danced on the facades. The voices of citizens were more refined, Latin, and local Iberian dialects of merchants and city dwellers. Shuttered shops lined the thoroughfares, but the scent of fresh bread and simmering stews spilled from the open doors of thermopolia.
Behind each low counter, a cook ladled thick stew into bowls for hurried customers, while flatbreads were stacked like tiny shields. The legionaries' stomachs growled in unison.
"Alright, how many denarii do we have between us?" Valerian asked, his stomach rumbling audibly. "Now that we're finally out of the fort, it'd be a shame if we didn't eat some real food. I brought ten denarii myself."
"I only have eight with me," Atticus replied, counting the coins in his pouch with a sigh. "I would have withdrawn more from the signifier if I'd known we were actually eating out in the city."
"Bernardus, with only five denarii to your name, this meal's on us," Atticus said, grinning as he clapped a hand on his companion's shoulder.
Bernardus laughed, shaking his head. "You lot are spoiling me. I'll make sure to pay you back."
Valerian grinned. "What do I always say? You medicus are always spoiled."
With that, the three men pushed open the swinging wooden doors of a busy thermopolium. The air was thick with the scents of roasting meat, simmering stews, and fresh bread. Clay jars of bubbling food, meat, fish, and duck lined the counter, and a stout woman behind it wiped her hands on a linen cloth, eyeing them with scrutiny.
The stout woman, her arms thick and strong from years of lifting heavy dolia, wiped her hands on her linen apron and squinted at the trio. The din of the crowded room.
Shouts, laughter, and the clatter of pottery seemed to die down for just a moment as the soldiers' military cloaks caught the eye of the civilian patrons.
Three, please," Valerian said, gesturing toward the steaming bowls of meat stew. "Two bowls each."
"That'll be three denarii, half a denarius per bowl," she announced in a booming voice, holding up three thick fingers. Valerian nodded curtly and reached for his money pouch, extracting the coins and dropping them into her outstretched, calloused palm.
She inspected them quickly before tucking them into a leather bag tied securely to her belt. "Sit in the back room," she instructed, pointing with her chin toward a crowded corner where small wooden tables were crammed together. "I'll have them brought to you. Mind your swords."
The three men navigated the cramped space, their heavy boots thudding on the hard-packed earth floor as they skirted around merchants and common laborers already deep in conversation or mid-meal.
They found a small table near a wall covered in faded frescoes of grapes and fruit, squeezing onto a long bench. In short order, a young boy with sharp eyes and quick hands maneuvered through the crowd, balancing a heavy wooden tray.
He set down six generous, deep bowls of dark, rich-smelling stew, accompanied by a small, round loaf of fresh, crusty bread for each man. As promised, a thick, white wedge of cheese was placed on the center of the table.
"Gods be praised," Atticus murmured, his eyes fixed on the steaming food, the savory aroma hitting him hard. "Real food." He wasted no time, tearing off a hunk of bread and immediately dipping it into the stew, eager to eat before it cooled in the noisy, drafty room.
Valerian and Bernardus followed suit, the serious, disciplined nature of their military bearing melting away in the face of such simple, satisfying pleasures.
Atticus leaned in, his voice a low growl. "By the Mother of the Gods, you'd think they'd be used to legionaries by now. What's their problem?"
Valerian agreed, scanning the room. They were just here for a meal, yet the tension made his hand twitch toward his gladius more than once.
Bernardus, however, offered a chuckle. "Not everyone is as green and docile as you. Think about it. We paid three denarii for six bowls of quality food."
He tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it into the rich broth. "Most soldiers don't pay. They usually take what they want, show their blade, and walk out. Any interaction is dangerous for these people."
Taking a hefty bite of the cheese, he continued, "And thermopolia usually avoid serving wine to soldiers. A drunk legionary is a disaster waiting to happen. If the wine is watered down to calm them, it still risks angering them. It's a lose-lose for these places."
"Best we eat and get out of here," Atticus growled, slapping the table lightly. "I don't blame them. I'm already itching to smash something, and all I wanted was a good hot meal."
They ate in relative silence, the rich aroma and warmth of the meal slowly easing the tension from their shoulders. When the bowls were empty, Atticus wiped his hands on his tunic and stood, stretching his back. "Still some time before we need to go back to the fort. Why not see what the city has to offer?"
"Sure," Valerian replied. "It's the first city I've properly seen since leaving Rome; most of the time, I've been stuck inside a fort."
The three legionaries stepped back into the cool evening, the sun having dipped lower behind Corduba's stone buildings. Lanterns glimmered along the streets, casting pools of soft light onto the worn flagstones.
Citizens lingered in small groups, merchants shouted their wares, and children chased each other around the corners. The bustle of the city felt oddly alive compared to the ordered discipline of the fort.
Valerian led the way down a narrow side street, his cloak trailing along the stone walls, while Atticus followed, whistling softly, with Bernardus bringing up the rear.
They turned a corner and stopped abruptly. A row of low wooden stands and cages lined the square, the air thick with dust and sweat. The sign above read "Venalium Servorum."