Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  “That bad?” he whispered.

  There was a fleeting look of surprise, then Volusenus’ face flushed a little as his good eye suddenly looked away, embarrassed at the display. He opened his mouth, seemingly about to deny this, but then his mouth set in a grim frown, and he nodded his head.

  “I’m sorry,” Volusenus said awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to apologizing for anything. Yet, the truth was that he not only respected Gaius Porcinus, but in his own way, he liked the younger man a great deal, despite their prior differences. “But yes, it’s pretty bad.”

  “I thought so,” Porcinus sighed, then without thinking, he held out a hand and asked, “Will you help me up? I want to look for myself.”

  Volusenus looked startled, and he hesitated, asking, “Are you sure? I’m telling you, lad, it’s pretty ugly.”

  It was a sign of Porcinus’ combination of discomfort and astonishment that Volusenus had uttered what for him could be called a term of endearment that he didn’t take offense at being called “lad.” Nevertheless, he was insistent and finally, Volusenus complied with a sigh, taking his hand and letting Porcinus pull against it. And Porcinus immediately regretted doing so, both because the sudden movement caused his stomach to lurch, threatening to send whatever was left in it back up, and for the sight of his leg. Philandros had pulled it straight, at least as straight as it was possible for him to do, aligning the bones so that the ends no longer poked through the skin. The two places where they had done so were clearly visible in the form of two large red spots on the linen bandage that was tightly wrapped around his lower right leg. Outside the bandage were two flat boards, one on either side, which were also wrapped with linen in two spots, one just below his knee and the other above his ankle. That was distressing enough; it was the sight of his foot that caused Porcinus to let out an audible gasp. It was horribly swollen, a dark purple in color, and although he was no physician, he understood this was a bad sign.

  Girding himself, he turned to Volusenus. “Touch my foot.”

  The other Centurion recoiled, and gave a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head in refusal.

  “I’m not going to tickle your foot for you!”

  “Please,” Porcinus implored him. “I need to see if I can feel it.”

  Volusenus mouthed a curse, but relented, and walked to the end of Porcinus’ cot.

  “Close your eyes,” Volusenus commanded.

  Porcinus did so, and without thinking, started holding his breath.

  “Feel that?”

  At first, Porcinus held the wild hope that Volusenus was tricking him, and he opened one eye. When he saw the other Pilus Prior firmly grasping his big toe, he felt his heart rise in his throat, along with a healthy dose of bile. He felt nothing, nothing at all; no pressure, no sensation whatsoever.

  “Maybe it’s temporary,” he muttered.

  “It probably is,” Volusenus agreed, and although he didn’t sound sincere, Porcinus chose to ignore that and took his words at face value.

  “I imagine by tomorrow I’ll get feeling back in my foot,” he said with the desperate hopefulness of the man who knows that he’s lying to himself, if not everyone else.

  Volusenus decided to change the subject.

  “Did you hear about our Primus Pilus?”

  Of all the things Volusenus could have said, in terms of jerking Porcinus’ attention away from his current plight, he couldn’t have found a better topic.

  “No.” Porcinus tried to keep his voice level. “I’ve been…occupied.”

  Volusenus gave that snort that Porcinus had determined was his version of a laugh.

  “I suppose so,” Volusenus agreed. “Well, he’s gone missing.”

  “Missing?” Porcinus echoed. “How? When?”

  “What do you remember about the fight?” Volusenus asked. “Because I don’t want to waste my breath going over things you already know.”

  Porcinus considered, then replied, “I remember going into the forest, and as soon as we did, we broke down by sections because of the ground. It was really chopped up. Then there was the fire.” Porcinus thought of something. “By the way, what about that fire? Who started it? I thought Tiberius had decided against it.”

  “He did,” Volusenus agreed, “but apparently, the courier sent to Quirinus got intercepted because not only did he not get the message, the courier hasn’t been heard from since.”

  That made sense to Porcinus and he fell silent, waiting for Volusenus to continue.

  Seeing that Porcinus was listening, Volusenus went on. “So as I was saying, Barbatus hasn’t been seen since just before the Legion pulled out of the forest because of the fire. It’s about burned out now, so Tiberius has sent men in to search for survivors. Not,” he finished grimly, “that there’s likely to be.”

  “What about the Varciani?” Porcinus asked. “Did they manage to slip away?”

  “No.” Volusenus made no attempt to hide his satisfaction. “We slaughtered those cunni almost to the last man. Only a handful were captured, and they were wounded or high-ranking nobles that Tiberius ordered be kept alive. Our boys didn’t spare anyone else.”

  Porcinus shared his counterpart’s satisfaction, even if his mind was still focused on the news about Barbatus.

  “Are there any ideas about what happened to Barbatus?” he asked cautiously. “Did anyone…see anything?”

  Evidently, there was something in Porcinus’ tone that caused Volusenus to look at him sharply, his lone eye boring into Porcinus’ pair, searching for something.

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Volusenus said at last. Then, “Why? What do you know?”

  Porcinus’ heart, which was already beating at an elevated pace, suddenly started behaving like a runaway horse, and he was sure that Volusenus could see the movement of his tunic, which he watched, with a dull horror, leaping rhythmically out of the corner of his eye.

  He tried to ignore the sight as he concentrated his gaze on Volusenus and protested, “Nothing!” Thinking quickly, he added, “Besides, how could I? I fell down that fucking gully pretty early on, and I passed out. The next thing I remember is Urso standing there.”

  Volusenus grunted, seemingly satisfied with Porcinus’ answer, although he was moved to ask, “About that. How in Hades did you manage to do that? Trip over your own feet? I’ve never known you to be so clumsy.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” Porcinus said lightly, then gave the other man a shrug. “I don’t really remember much. One moment I was trying to get to one of my sections after we got separated, the next I was tumbling down into the gully.”

  “Just bad luck then,” Volusenus concluded, but Porcinus thought he heard as much question as statement, which he chose to ignore.

  “Bad luck,” Porcinus agreed.

  There was an awkward silence, then finally, Volusenus broke it, saying, “Well. Right, then. I suppose you need your rest.” He turned to go, but then seemed to think of something. Turning back around, he said quietly, “I’m going to make a sacrifice that your leg mends good as new, Gaius.”

  Before Porcinus could respond, he hurried away, not returning to his own cot, but exiting the tent, leaving an astonished fellow Pilus Prior staring at his retreating back.

  Porcinus spent a fitful night, dropping off to sleep, then being jerked awake when he made the slightest movement in his slumber, the pain shooting up his leg making him gasp. Finally, Philandros ordered one of the medici working the night shift to spoon another mouthful of poppy syrup into Porcinus, and although he was grateful, in some ways, it made matters worse, because he almost immediately dropped into a deeper sleep. Consequently, whenever he made that kind of move that all people do when they sleep, the shock of pain seemed even more severe than before. It was also a difficult place to sleep because of the activity that always took place in the aftermath of a battle, although this one had seen relatively light casualties. However, the nature of the injuries of those who had been unlucky, Porcinus
included, were different from most fights. There were two men in particular who served to make Porcinus feel, if not fortunate, then at least not as cursed as he could have been. They were two Gregarii, from different Cohorts, who had been trapped by the flames set by Quirinus’ men, both of them suffering horrible burns. One of them had been knocked into a line of burning underbrush, and his lower legs had suffered horrific burns, looking to Porcinus like charred meat. He had only gotten a glimpse of the man, moaning with a pain that Porcinus couldn’t even imagine as the unfortunate Gregarius was carried through the Centurion’s area on the way to Charon’s Boat. The small blessing was that Philandros, knowing the man couldn’t be saved, ordered that he be drugged insensible so that his suffering was eased during his passage to the afterlife. But it was the other man who Porcinus was thankful that he didn’t even see; he concluded he must have been asleep when this man was carried past his cot, and he shuddered just to think about him. He had heard the whispered conversation of two medici discussing the case.

  “His face is burned off,” one told the other, and there was no mistaking the shudder in the man’s voice. “He’s got no nose, no lips, no ears. Nothing’s left.”

  “How is he even alive?” the other medicus had asked, and despite his revulsion, it was a question Porcinus had asked himself.

  “Who knows?” the first man said; Porcinus couldn’t see him shrug. “Sometimes, the animus in a man is just too strong for its own good. Truly, it would be a blessing for all of us if he just…let go.”

  Despite accepting the truth in what the medicus was saying, Porcinus felt a surge of anger at the man’s words. What would this…orderly, this non-combatant know of such things? What it took to stay alive on a battlefield? He thought about calling the man over, but he was too tired, and too addled in his mind to do more than silently curse the man, so he let it pass. As it would turn out, while both Gregarii did die, it was the man whose legs were burned who succumbed first, while the other man stubbornly clung to life well into the next day. The night passed, the bucina sounding the changes in the watches of the night, telling Porcinus what time it was, and it was shortly after the call that signaled the start of a new day for the Legions that he had his first visitors. It was Corvinus and Ovidius, both men still dressed in their full uniforms and covered with the grime and soot from what was clearly an exhausting battle and aftermath. They had at least washed their faces, although their eyes were still red-rimmed from the smoke, and Porcinus could see that both of them were near the end of their tethers, weaving with fatigue.

  “Sorry it took us so long,” Ovidius began, but Porcinus waved him off.

  “I have a feeling you’ve been busy,” he joked weakly.

  The truth was that he wasn’t in the mood for visitors; the enormity of what had happened to him was beginning to settle in, and he was finding it difficult to keep his mind from going to a bleak place. And yet, neither did he feel like dismissing these two men that he considered friends, knowing that the company would probably do him more good than harm.

  “You could say that,” Corvinus agreed wearily, signaling to a medicus. “Bring two stools, now!”

  A moment later, the pair was settled next to Porcinus, and he noticed that their eyes clearly had trouble staying away from the sight of his leg.

  “Pretty ugly, isn’t it?” he asked lightly.

  Ovidius was the first to reply, clearly relieved that Porcinus had brought it up.

  “It’s not good,” he agreed, then hastened to add, “but I’ve seen worse.”

  “Really? Care to tell me when? Because I’d love to know.” Porcinus made sure by his tone that he meant this as a joke, but Ovidius’ face flushed anyway.

  Then, he realized his superior was teasing him, and he gave a short laugh.

  “All right,” he retorted. “I’ve never seen anything this bad before! There, feel better?”

  “At least you’re being honest,” Porcinus said equably. Then, seeing the pair’s discomfort, he hastened to ask, “So, how are the boys?”

  “They’re fine,” Ovidius assured him. “We only had one wounded, that stupid bastard Figulus. But I’m half-convinced he stabbed himself, he’s so fucking clumsy.”

  Without thinking, Porcinus laughed, sending a stab of pain up his leg that immediately wrenched a gasp from him. Ovidius jumped up, his face showing the alarm he felt, and the sight was so comical to Porcinus that, despite himself, he felt another laugh coming. Which of course was immediately followed by another gasp of pain.

  “Pluto’s cock.” Ovidius was almost beside himself by this point, awkwardly patting Porcinus’ shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh!”

  “Yes you did, you bastard,” Porcinus wheezed, the tears streaming from his eyes as he alternated between what was now a guffaw of laughter, punctuated by increasingly sharp gasps of pain.

  The effect on the other two was that, despite their best efforts, they joined in with Porcinus until the trio were laughing hysterically, and all three of them were streaming tears. Finally, Philandros was forced to come over, his expression severe.

  “This is a hospital, not a mime show!” he hissed. “And you’re Centurions, not rankers! I expect better behavior from men like you!”

  The trio did their best to look chastised, hanging their heads like schoolboys caught whispering in class, a posture that lasted as long as it took for Philandros to give them a last, stern look before going back to his duties. He wasn’t gone more than a few heartbeats before the snickering resumed, albeit in a quieter tone. However, the mirth was sufficiently dampened that it allowed more normal conversation to resume.

  “So, did you hear about Barbatus?” Corvinus was the man who asked Porcinus, echoing Volusenus, but only after assuring his superior that his Century had emerged unscathed from the battle, and that as far as he knew, the other Centuries only had a couple minor wounds.

  “Yes, Volusenus mentioned something about it,” Porcinus said carefully.

  The Secundus Pilus Prior, evidently deciding he was sufficiently recovered, had checked himself out of the hospital shortly before Ovidius and Corvinus came to visit, but there were two other Centurions that had been wounded seriously enough to be in this part of the hospital tent, so Porcinus made sure his voice was pitched low.

  “What did he tell you?” Corvinus pressed.

  “Only that he was missing.”

  “Well,” Corvinus replied, “they found him.” His expression changed to one of grim satisfaction. “And the cunnus is dead.”

  “Really?” Porcinus tried to affect surprise, but he was sure that his friends weren’t fooled, although if they saw through him, they gave no sign.

  “Yes,” Corvinus assured him. “He’s dead, all right. But I won’t deny it’s a bit strange.”

  “Oh? What’s strange about it?” Porcinus’ throat almost closed around the words.

  “Well, the fire passed over the gully that he was found in, although the entire area above him was burned to a crisp. So he wasn’t even singed.”

  “So what killed him?” Porcinus asked Corvinus, once more sure that the beating of his heart would be visible to his friend.

  “One of the Varciani must have gotten behind him, because he was stabbed in the back.” Corvinus, if he knew any differently, was remarkably composed and sounded completely sincere in his own belief. He gave a harsh laugh. “So I guess his Praetorians either weren’t that fond of him, or they weren’t all he thought they were, because it’s very strange for a Primus Pilus to be isolated that way.”

  “True,” Porcinus agreed, then gave what he hoped was a casual shrug, “but maybe he got separated. Like I did. It was impossible to see because of all the fucking smoke.”

  “You’re right about that.” Corvinus nodded. Then, he seemed to think of something. “But Urso said he found you in a gully too. I know the ground was really broken up and it was a nightmare, but what are the odds that two first-grade Centurions would end up like that?”

>   “I’d guess pretty low,” Porcinus said, desperately wishing that Ovidius would speak up or that Corvinus would change the topic.

  “Well, at least we’re rid of that bastard,” Corvinus concluded, and much to Porcinus’ relief, did change the subject. “I heard we’re going to be here for another day, then we head back to Siscia.”

  “When we get back, you’ll at least be able to be at home,” Ovidius said, and while he meant it as a way to cheer Porcinus up, it, in fact, had the opposite effect.

  “I suppose,” was all Porcinus would say, but the truth was he had thought of this earlier, and didn’t relish the idea.

  He knew that his children would want to help, yet he understood that, in all likelihood, they would only cause Iras to become cross as she fussed over him. More than anything, though, was that he didn’t want his family to see him so helpless; although he had been wounded before, it had happened before he had a family, or was on campaign and had mended before returning at the end of the season. This would be a new experience for all of them, and one he wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. Porcinus made a great show of yawning, then blinking his eyes several times, but was forced to repeat this twice more before the two men took the hint.

  “We’ll let you get some rest,” Corvinus finally said, standing up.

  “Let me know what happens about Barbatus,” Porcinus said without thinking.

  “What do you mean?” Corvinus, who had been about to leave, turned about, looking down at Porcinus sharply. “What more is there to know? He’s dead.”