Legion of the Undead

by Michael Whitehead

  The two men looked at each other for a second before Vitus took the man's wrist and helped him up.

  “There are some things a man should never have to do and killing his friend is one of them,” the big man said.

  “Thank you my friend,” said Vitus. “My name is Vitus.”

  “I know,” said the big man. “Antonius told me. He’s passed out over there, or I’m sure he would have done it for you instead. I’m Tiny. I have another name but no-one uses it.”

  “Thank you, Tiny. I owe you one.” Said Vitus

  “Not at all, a friend of Antonius is a friend of mine.” Tiny slapped him on the back. Vitus felt like his spine was bending.

  Bodies lay everywhere. Everyone of the one hundred and eighty three Risen were accounted for, and the legion had lost thirty more souls. Seven medicus had been killed, leaving the legion eight of them between nearly three thousand men.

  The news of the bitten men turning into Risen spread quickly. For about an hour it was the only topic on anyone’s lips.

  Vitus realised that he was now, temporarily, a centurion. He had no idea how to go about fulfilling his new role. His first act was to find a man he knew Vespas respected, to ask his advice.

  Centurion Bactas was a broad man with dark hair and a full beard. He paced around his tent with a glass in his hand while he spoke to Vitus. He seemed to be as tight as a wound catapult.

  “I understand Vespas thought a lot of you Vitus, He spoke of you with great respect.”

  “The feeling was mutual, he taught me a great deal. I’m sorry he’s gone.” Vitus held up his glass and drained it, Bactus did likewise. The local spirit was rough and burned on the way down.

  Vitus continued. “He never taught me how to be an officer, though.”

  Bactus raised his eyebrows, “In at the deep end aren't you lad? Well, to be honest, I don’t think any of us have the answer to today's fiasco.”

  “I don’t even know where to start though.” Vitus held out his glass when Bactus offered him the bottle.

  “Look, go see your men. Tell them how it is, be honest. Tell them you will do your best for them, and you expect the same from them. In short, think about what you’d want to hear if you were them.”

  Vitus nodded, it was good advice. “The trouble is whatever I’d want to hear would sound better coming from Vespas than me.”

  “Of course it fucking would. No-one expects you to be Vespas. Fucksake, he had nearly twenty five years in. You can’t become that in a day. Just keep it simple and get those lads home in one piece. If you can do that, they will look up to you forever. Now finish that drink, we've got all night before they've finished those platforms of yours and we may as well drink to Vespas.”

  Vitus drained his glass and held it out to Bactus.

  “Cracking idea that, by the way. Keep that up and you’ll have no trouble at all.”

  The following day dawned with winter making a final push against the coming of spring. The air was cold and smoke rose all around the camp as the night's fires were resurrected to boil kettles and pots of water.

  A lot of the kit the legionaries were used to having at hand would need to be left behind in the escape. The standing legion fort was three days march away and the equipment needed to set up camp between here and there would be lost. It was not a situation that Roman Legions found themselves in often, if ever. Common practice saw a new camp built every night on the march. Every man knew his place in camp, every tent and building would be placed the same way every time. It made logistics and camp safety easy to organise.

  Moving nearly three thousand men without the usual practices would be a test of spirit, especially since the men would only be taking whatever food and water they could carry with them.

  Even the tents would be left behind, being too big to carry over long distances. The carts they were normally stored on had been sacrificed to strengthen the wall platforms.

  Vitus woke with a surprisingly clear head. He had walked back through the camp from Bactus’ tent late in the night, swaying as he went. The bodies of the Risen and the legionary dead were being buried. Treated with equal dignity. No matter how they had ended their time, they had all been legionaries. Men worked by lamp light digging graves.

  Vitus had thought about stopping and helping but in his drunken state thought better of swinging a spade.

  He had passed Vespas’ tent and wondered if he should sleep there, being the centurion now. He decided it would feel too much like stepping in the man's grave, and made his way to his usual bed.

  After waking he had given the men chance to piss before he had called a meeting. Of the original century there were fifty eight remaining. It was better than some centuries but the men were feeling the losses, hard.

  Not only had they seen their brothers die but they had then been forced to fight against them. Seeing those men reanimated had taken the worst toll of all.

  He had started, “Listen lads. I'm not going to lie to you. This is a shitty situation. We've lost a lot of men that we all loved. We've also lost Vespas who most of us looked up to like a father.

  “I can't change any of that. I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to get you all out of this. Governor Clemens is a good man, and I trust him to deliver. All I ask in return is for you to give me as much effort as you gave Vespas. Together we can do this.

  “I'm new to this, so I expect as much help as you can give me to do the job right. We owe it to Vespas.”

  There had been a small round of clapping and “yes, sir” from a number of the men. It was the men calling him sir that made him feel more out of his depth than anything. It brought the situation home like nothing else had.

  After the meeting, Vitus found Antonius and Regulus eating breakfast. He sat down and Regulus passed him a plate.

  “You did well in there,” Antonius said with a smile.

  “Thanks, but I haven't got a clue what I’m actually supposed to be doing,” Vitus admitted.

  “Just do what Vespas would have done. We are heading out on a march. Get them to check their kit. Make sure they wipe their arses when they shit, that kind of thing.”

  “The thing is I need an optio. The governor has put together emergency measures, and one of those is officers are to choose their own seconds. Regulus if you were old enough this would be a tough decision, but I can’t ask a fourteen year old to do a optios job.”

  Regulus shrugged and smiled. “No problem. I like my freedom, thanks anyway.”

  “Antonius, are you up to the job?”

  The big man shook his hand legionary style. “Best gods damned officers in the legion. You mark my words.”

  The three of them lapsed into silence enjoying their food and thinking of Vespas.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Helena Lucia Valerius was in a whirl of excitement. A package had arrived from Rome with new clothes and jewellery that her father had ordered. It had seemed an age since he had sent men to the capital, but finally they had arrived back with goods and messages from her father's contacts.

  It was among those messages that the one piece of really exciting news had arrived. Lucia’s aunt on her father's side had invited here to come and live in the capital. Her mind swam to think of all the things she would see and do in such a place.

  Her life here on the estate was in many ways a dream. She could ride whenever she wished. With no mother to temper her father's desire to please her Lucia was also allowed to hunt and fish and do a thousand things a girl would never do otherwise.

  She had sat down to the evening meal the previous night, and her father had told her of the letter. She had tried so hard not to let her excitement show through fear of upsetting him. Marianus Lucius Valerius was a hard man in so many ways, in business he was ruthless, but when it came to his daughter he was as soft as they came.

  Still, despite her attempts to mask her giddiness, he had a sad smile on his face by the end of the meal. She was seventeen years old, and needed a
husband before she was past the age where men would desire her. However, leaving her father was heart-breaking.

  He had hugged her and kissed her forehead, telling her he would make the arrangements for the journey. The estate had guards enough to be considered a small, standing army. He could spare enough of them to make sure her carriage got safely to Rome.

  Rome! She was actually going to see Rome! It was almost like a mythical place in her mind. She had heard so many stories of the city her where her father had been born. The places, the great people who lived there, and died there. Not only would she see Rome but would actually live there. See would see the Forum, the temple of Jupiter, and Pompey's theatre, maybe she could go and see the chariot races if her aunt allowed.

  She had never seen her aunt, but Lucia had heard her father speak of her many times. She was by all accounts strict but loving.

  Gone would be the days of riding and playing, but a girl must become a woman at some point. She would miss these free days, but would have memories to last her through any boring dinners in her aunt's house.

  She began to dream of all the potential husbands to which she would be introduced. They would be important officers in the legions, or young and handsome sons of rich merchants. They would sweep her off her feet and into a life of whirlwind romance and…...who was she kidding? She would probably end up the wife of a man twice her age who wasn’t there most of the time because he travelled for business. Still, who cared? Rome was calling and she would run there if she had to.

  “Lucia! Lucia!” The sound of her Matrons voice brought Lucia down to earth with a crash. The woman could be so restrictive, making her wear long women's dresses instead of the shorter tunics that let her ride and hunt.

  She was constantly telling Lucia to be a woman, well now she would have her wish. Lucia would take the annoying but kindly woman with her to Rome. She would soon be able to fuss and preen all she liked.

  “Lucia! Lucia!” Came the call again. Lucia was about to make herself known when her matron continued. “Lucia? Where are you girl? There are men coming, I’m to take you to safety.”

  This wasn’t at all what Lucia was expecting. To be told to get dressed and come and eat, those were the normal things normal days were made of. This was something altogether more intriguing. She threw on a dark tunic that showed off far too much of her legs. There were a couple of younger guards that stared at her when she wore it. She liked the power she had over them. She also liked to annoy her matron.

  Outside the room, her matron was just getting to the door. “Rosa, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heart attack. Tell me what's happening, slowly.”

  The older woman was out of breath from running. Actually if truth be told Rosa never ran anywhere, she waddled. A life of quiet servitude and a good friendship with the cook had given her all over padding, as she told Lucia.

  “Your father sent me to fetch you, girl. There is a slave army on the loose. At least that’s what your father thinks it is. Some of the field slaves are getting very upset about it. They keep saying it’s an army of monsters. Very dramatic, I’m sure.

  “I’ve been told to take you to the wine cellar. Your father has sent all the children and some of the older slaves down there as well. He’s far too kind if you ask me. It’s one thing letting those slaves have children and families while they are here but at a time like this they should fight for the estate.”

  Lucia was always amused when Rosa spoke of ‘the slaves’ like that. She herself had been a slave of the house for ten years before her father had freed her, and started paying her a wage. He would do the same with all the slaves if they served the house well. It was another way in which her father was a big softy and she loved him for it.

  “How far away is this army? Do I have time to see my father before he makes me hide? I want to know why he won’t let me fight. I can use a bow better than most of the guards.”

  “He said, they would be here any minute, and you were to hurry. He has put a few knives down in the cellar in case they get that far. If you ask me, knives will do no good if they manage to get past the guards, and your father.”

  “Hush now Rosa!” Lucia chided her. If the children hear you talking like that you will have them upset. We need to be strong for the little ones. Now go. I will be there as soon as I have gathered a few things. Is there water and food in the cellar?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think we should have some?” The matron looked confused.

  “Well, yes! Go, as fast as you can. Gather enough food to keep the children fed for a couple of days, and lots of water. Get the women to help you.”

  Lucia watched her matron go with love. She would put everyone else before herself, no matter what she said about ‘the slaves’. Her mind would be full of how to care for the children. So much so that Lucia sometimes had to reminder of the smaller things these days.

  Time was catching up with her and soon her father would give her a room and space to call her own for her final years. If they could see off this new menace that was.

  She headed off down the corridor towards the outer door. She had to see her father before the fighting started. The mosaic floor made flapping noises against her soft leather sandals, and soon an echo followed her as she ran.

  At the door she was stopped by two of the estate guards. They tried their best to stop her coming outside but were no match for the will of a seventeen year old girl. She stormed past them knowing they would never dare to lay a finger on her.

  Her father stood looking out of the main gate. The tall walls had walkways but the guards were readying themselves up there and her father would stay out of their way.

  “Father what is going on?” She ran to him and threw her arms around his middle.

  He drew her away, and said, “Lucia, you need to be inside they are almost here!”

  “I couldn’t go to the cellar without seeing you first. I had to, I’m sorry.”

  Her father could never stay mad at her and soon he was embracing her. She pressed her face against his chest as he kissed the top of her head. She turned to look out of the gate and could see a mass of people moving through the wheat fields.

  They almost seemed to roll like the waves of the sea. She had seen the ocean once as a child, and had never forgotten it. They seemed to be bent over, and moving in an angular motion, not like people walked, or ran for that matter.

  “Father, I’m scared.”

  She turned to him, wanting to tell him to run, to beg him. What had the slaves said was coming? Monsters. Now that she could see them Lucia could see what they had been talking about. This wasn’t a slave army. Lucia didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t an army of people at all.

  “Go now, Lucia,” her father said, and hugged her one last time. “I love you, and I will see you when it’s all over.”

  “I love you “, she returned, and headed back inside to find Rosa.

  The old woman was directing the slave women to fetch and carry food and water. A dark skinned woman Lucia knew worked in the laundry stepped aside carrying a basket of bread. Lucia took a step backward and motioned for the woman to carry on, saying, “sorry,” as the woman went past.

  “Rosa, give me something to carry,” she said as she got to her matron.

  “Here girl take this.” Rosa handed her a basket of fruit. “We’re nearly done. I’ve left more out for the men out there.” She pointed to a table over-laden with food, ready to pick up and eat.

  Lucia took the basket, and made her way to the cellar. It was dry and cool down there but the twenty or thirty people would soon make it feel warmer. Lucia placed the basket next to the other food and turned to go back upstairs. Rosa was behind her.

  “That’s the last of it my girl. We can lock the door and should be safe enough here.’’

  “There are a couple of things I need, Rosa. I won’t be long. Lock the door behind me, and I’ll knock when I want to get back in.”

  The matron began to shake her head
but, Lucia was already heading for the door. In truth she had no intention of sitting down in the cellar while her father was in danger up there. She at least wanted to find out what was going on. She couldn’t bare the thought of not knowing.

  She closed the door on the sound of Rosa’s protests and quietly made her way along the hallway to a window that looked out over the front of the villa.

  The men outside looked tense and ready. The guards held swords, or bows if they were up on the wall. The slaves were carrying equipment from the fields. Lucia thought that the farm equipment looked deadlier. Every face was turned towards the oncoming men, and no-one saw her watching.

  The first of the men must have been within arrow range because, from somewhere out of sight, she heard her father give the order to fire. Something must have surprised them as the shots landed, because a lot of the slaves began turning to each other and talking. Her father gave the order again, and the guards also began to get agitated.

  The invaders must have reached the gate because the guards started to strike though the bars with spears. Lucia kept getting glimpses of the men outside.

  At first she thought she must be seeing injured men, some of the attackers had vicious looking wounds. For a split second, she saw a man whose arm appeared to have been torn off. Another man had half of his jaw broken. It dangled below his face like a shop sign blowing in the wind.

  Lucia saw this man take a spear blow to the chest before he was lost to sight. Then a minute later she saw him again. How could that be? She had seen him stabbed right where his heart was.

  The men outside seemed to be climbing on top of each other in an attempt to get over the iron gate. It was tall and the guards used spears to push them back down.

  It was at these men, as they climbed, that she got a good look. She felt her mouth hang open at the sight of them. There was a man whose insides were spilling out from a huge tear in his stomach. Another had a break in his arm that showed the bone though. The worst was their faces. They had blank stares from red rimmed, black eyes. Their mouths looked fit only for tearing and biting. So many of them looked like corpses that had been dead for a week.