“I know you do … but I will be with you. Just like Father is with us.” I began to cry. “I need you to do something, brother.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you to tell my wife and son how much I love them. I need you to tell Mother how thankful I am for how she raised me … I need you to go to them and tell them that I died well. That I died a Roman … that I died bravely.”
“Please …” I lowered my head, trying to find something more to say.
Still clutching his hand, I looked to the river that had turned scarlet, almost the color of our flags. The limp bodies of the Romans who’d attempted escape had risen to the surface in warning to those who might consider fleeing over those waters. But men still swam between them, fighting the current. My feet went numb as I considered that path. The Rhone was far more violent and swift than the river that had nearly killed me as a child. But that way held a chance. A small chance.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” I bent over and put his arms over my shoulders and strained to lift him. I almost made it to my feet before he began struggling against me.
“Brother, no! Leave me. This is where I die.”
“But I can get you to Mother!”
“Quintus … this is where I die.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “With my men. I will die with my men.”
I felt my heartbeat slow as I accepted his wishes, the truth of his situation. “Do you need me to do it?”
“No. By my hand.” He reached for his sword and pulled it to his chest. He gave me a nod and clasped me by my neck. “Go. Go!” he pleaded.
“I love you, Titus.” I struggled to release his hand.
“I love you too, little brother.”
Finally I stood. I turned to the river. I walked toward it, my heart racing now.
I felt I might throw up again, but had nothing left to give. The memory of drowning returned to me. I remembered what it felt like when the river nearly dragged me to my death. Here, the Rhone was swift, and it taunted me, threatened me with every fear I’d ever known.
But that river made me a promise. It promised me life. It promised that my mother would have at least one son return to her. It promised that my brother’s name would live on, that Gavius would have someone to provide for him and care for him. It promised that I would return to Arrea.
I pulled off my helmet and cut the breastplate from my chest. Before I knew what I did, one foot moved in front of the other. This was it, my greatest test. Courage the only thing that could sustain me now. As I reached the riverbank, I paused, placed a few toes over the precipice and looked down at the rushing current. I turned one last time, saluted my brother, all the men who had died that day. Without another thought, I turned and plunged into the sharp, cold river, thinking only of home.
AFTERWORD
He found me in a pile of brush. I’d swum against the current for some time before I finally lost my strength and slipped under. The gods must have been looking out for me that day and caused my limp body to wash up against the riverbank. But I can’t give all the credit to the gods. My friend Lucius would have searched to the ends of the earth until he found me. He carried me back to land and pumped the water from my lungs.
I don’t remember this, but he has told me the story many times. I woke and looked at him with what he claims was the strangest expression he had ever seen.
“I knew you would come,” I said to him as he hoisted me up and moved me to the shade of a few trees. He wrapped me in his cloak.
“What are we going to do, Quintus? Where can we go now?” he pleaded. “You need help. Look at your eye.” I have the hazy memory of his tear-stained face in this moment.
“Arrea is in Arelate. She can help me … she can help us,” I said to him. I must have passed out again shortly thereafter, for I remember almost nothing of our journey to Arelate.
Lucius carried me the entire way.
When we arrived, the sound of Arrea’s voice was enough to rouse me from my stupor. I stood and went to her. I’d never been so relieved in all my life. I pulled her in close and wept on her neck.
“I told you I would come back.”
The two of them helped me to a cot in Arrea’s rented hut and ensured that I was comfortable. A doctor arrived soon after and sedated me well. When he was sure I was unconscious, he performed the surgery necessary to remove the stone from my eye.
I didn’t wake for several days. When I did, Arrea was resting on the bed beside me, running her fingers through my hair. At first, I didn’t say anything, deciding to enjoy the feeling of life for the first time in a long time.
“Hello.” My voice was hoarse, but she gasped when she heard me. She didn’t reply but wrapped her arms around my neck.
“Quintus!” Lucius came shouting into the room. “You’re awake!”
“Alive, more like. It feels like I’ve spent the past few weeks traveling the River Styx.”
“You might have been if it wasn’t for your friend.” Arrea nodded to Lucius.
“You shouldn’t joke about that, Quintus! You were probably closer than you think.”
“I thank you for my life, brother.” He took my hand between his own and shook his head.
We talked of the battle. I told them about Ax and Flamen, how they fell, and about my last moments with Titus. They mourned with me, and they comforted me.
Despite how it may seem, the occasion wasn’t all sad. There was still life. We were still breathing, and there is always hope in that. Titus would live on through me, just as I would carry on the memory of all my brothers who fell for Rome and the Fourth Legion.
After a while, we tried to make other sorts of conversation. Lucius and Arrea formulated new nicknames for the “one-eyed” Sertorius and we laughed heartily. When silence came over us again, Arrea suddenly remembered that she had received several letters for me and went into the other room to collect them.
“Lucius, tell me. How are the men? Did anyone survive? What about Maximus?” I asked hurriedly.
“Rumor has it that Caepio and Maximus both made it back to Rome. Some are pushing for them to be put on trial for treason.” I tried to find something to say, but couldn’t find the right words. “There is a camp nearby where some of the men are rallying. Last I heard, there were no more than a handful, but more are showing up daily.”
“Any of mine? Any of the men in my contubernium? My century?”
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, friend.”
“Here you go,” Arrea said, returning and handing me a stack of more letters than I’d received during the entire campaign. “One of the couriers said he has been looking for you since you were with Maximus.”
I took my time opening them, one by one, and spilling over the words again and again. Many were from my mother, others from Volesa, and even one that Gavius had tried to write all by himself.
Most of them contained nothing exceptional, as if catching up after a few weeks of absence. They informed me of the training of our horses and how the crops were growing this year.
Then I received a special letter. My mother informed me that Marius’s grain had indeed arrived—several wagons of it. The people had all wept with joy and collectively thanked the gods for their blessings. Color and life seemed to return to Nursia, she said.
I tried to stifle my joyful tears as I passed the letter on to Lucius and Arrea.
“I guess it was all worth it then,” I said as Lucius gave a slight nod.
“You have one more,” Arrea said, pointing to the only scroll I had missed.
Formal and neat, it bore a stamp I knew well. I hurried to rip it open.
Centurion Quintus Sertorius,
I heard about the battle. It’s a damned shame. Also heard you’re alive. I’ll be needing your services again. We’re going to hunt those bastards down. Every last one of them. I’ll see you soon.
Imperator Gaius Marius
I read it several times. My heart raced though my breath was slow and controlled.
“Looks like it.”
Sertorius’ saga continues in The Noise of War!
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
Reading Order
Introduction
Join the Legion
I. Tirocinium Fori
Scroll I
Scroll II
Scroll III
Scroll IV
Scroll V
Scroll VI
Scroll VII
Scroll VIII
Scroll VIV
Scroll X
Scroll XI
II. The Road to Arausio
Scroll XII
Scroll XIII
Scroll XIV
Scroll XV
Scroll XVI
Scroll XVII
Scroll XVIII
Scroll XIX
Scroll XX
Scroll XXI
Scroll XXII
Scroll XXIII
Scroll XXIV
Scroll XXV
Scroll XXVI
Afterword
The Noise of War
Word from the author
The Man With Two Names Page 26