by R. W. Peake
Still, I hesitated, glancing down at the woman, lying on her back and looking up at me with the wild eyes of a trapped animal.
"Gregarius," I suppose I was sufficiently distracted that I had not noticed that Urso had closed the space between us in two quick strides and was now looking up at me, his thick eyebrows and dark features fixed in an expression of iron, that of a Centurion who expects to be obeyed. "I told you. Break. Her. Fucking. Arm."
Loathing myself, I still assumed a position of intente as I answered, "Yes, sir. I understand and will obey." Then, once more, before I could stop myself, I asked, "Any particular arm, Primus Pilus?"
Glaring at me, Urso did not reply for a moment, visibly struggling with his own composure, then finally said, "No. Now, do it."
And I did as my Primus Pilus ordered, using the edge of my shield on her forearm as I pulled her arm out straight with my right. Somehow, I understood that I had to do this quickly; if the barbarians divined my intentions, I had no confidence that Draxo would be able to hold them back. And the reaction, once the dull, cracking sound of the two bones in her arm snapping sounded, could not have been much worse.
Not until we were at least five miles from Topulcava did Urso dare to call a halt, mainly because the men tasked with carrying our injured comrades could not take another step. Thankfully, none of us were killed outright, at least immediately; I say "us," but I am referring to only the Legionaries. When the barrage of rocks hurled by the enraged villagers started raining down on us, those Legionaries nearest the Colapiani who were coming with us were faced with the choice of protecting themselves or these barbarians. Not a hard choice to make in the moment, but their decision would have the two worst kinds of consequences; the unforeseen and the unintended. One barbarian youth had been struck in the head, dropping as if all the bones in his body had instantly disappeared, dead before he hit the ground with a crushed skull. Now that we had stopped, while we were regaining our collective breaths, a squabble broke out among the men closest to the scene of that event.
"Gracchus, you stupid bastard! What were you thinking, not covering that poor bastard with your shield?"
"What was I thinking?" the Gregarius Gracchus, from the Second Century, asked incredulously. "I was thinking I didn't want to end up like him! That's what I was thinking!"
"But you had a helmet! He didn't! Do you know how much trouble that's going to cause us?"
That made me turn around, no less astounded than Gracchus had been. Obviously sensing that I was paying attention, Gracchus' accuser, another man from the Second Century named Rabirius pointed an accusing finger at me.
"And you! You broke her fucking arm!"
"Yeah," Gracchus, apparently just happy not to be bearing the brunt of Rabirius' attack, was quick to turn on me. "You did! What the fuck were you thinking?"
I was so astounded I did not know what to say, then I realized they had not heard Urso give me the order, yet when I turned to look at our Primus Pilus, who was clearly standing within earshot, he was studiously looking in the other direction back down the road. Which was understandable; if there was going to be pursuit, it would have been organized enough by that point that there would be some sign, in the form of a dust cloud. Opening my mouth, I was about to say something that would force Urso to come to my aid, then snapped it shut. Somehow, I sensed that our Primus Pilus would do no such thing; I resolved to myself that there was time for that once we made it back to Siscia. Instead, I followed Urso's gaze back in the direction of Topulcava, and felt a strong rush of relief that, at least by this point, there were no signs of pursuit. Cossus was checking on our injured; two of the men of the detachment had been knocked unconscious. One of them had already regained his senses and was sitting groggily on the ground as one of the others helped him drink from a canteen that I am sure was filled with wine, which is forbidden when we go into battle. But, I thought bitterly, none of us thought we would be in a fight today, not even Urso. Speaking of Urso, once he determined there was no pursuit closing in on us at that point, he had held a quick conference with Cossus and I saw the Optio point to the one man who was not yet conscious and, frankly, judging from the dent in his skull was not likely to wake soon, if ever. I had not seen it happen, but certainly had heard it, the sound of the missile striking his helmet sounding something like a gong, only more muffled, but it gave me pause to think how hard that rock must have been thrown to cause that much damage, especially with a helmet. Only later did I learn the full details. Because of the situation, the Gregarius – I do not remember his name – had loosened the thong that we tie under our chin to keep our helmets on securely. Once what I suppose could be called a riot started, in the excitement, he forgot to retie it. His helmet was struck and knocked off, but before he could bend down to pick it up, with little more than ringing ears and a headache, a second rock hit him and crushed his skull. Now he was lying at the feet of the last man carrying him, who was still panting for breath as he sat with his head between his knees as Urso and Cossus talked. I could still feel the glares of the men who were behind me in the formation, and I was so desperate that without thinking I actually turned to Philo, thinking that even he would be forced to give the men who hated me the truth. Except, the instant I looked at his face, I understood that no help would be coming from him. The best I can say is that he was not giving me that evil grin; like Urso, he seemed to have forgotten I existed. Only Caecina, who took a pace back so that he was just behind where we were still standing in a loose semblance of a formation, would look me in the eye. Yet, when he did, it was to give me that fucking grin, followed by a slight shake of his head that told me I was on my own. Before anything more could be made of things, however, Urso strode to the front of the formation and gave the order to resume the march.
"We need to move faster than this if we want to get back to Siscia before dark," was the only thing he said. "Because none of us want to be outside the walls when the sun goes down."
With that cheery thought, we continued back towards Siscia.
We only stopped once more, but it was because our serious casualty had died. However, I was as unprepared for what came next as I had been for everything else that happened on this day. The dead man was wrapped in his cloak, but although Urso did put a coin in his mouth—I could not help noticing it was not one from the bag given to him by Draxo, but a silver denarius—then mutter a few words I assume was a prayer, that was all that was done.
"We're leaving him?" I gasped, but thankfully, for the first time, I was not alone in my protest.
"Primus Pilus," the man who marched next to him and who I later learned was the dead man's close comrade, "we can't leave Gaius behind. We have to take him home with us!"
Urso did at least look uncomfortable; I would not go so far as to say he was sad, but whatever he was feeling, his tone was firm and left no question that this was an order he expected to be obeyed.
"We have to, Ausello," Urso said. "We can't bring him back because he's slowing us down and we still have five miles to go. Besides," and I believe this was the real reason, "we can't bring him back because there would be too many questions."
The Gregarius Ausello opened his mouth, yet despite my silent encouragement, nothing came out of it before his head dropped in a quiet acknowledgment. To make matters worse, at least from my viewpoint, was that I said nothing as well, taking the cowardly way out of giving assent to this desecration through my silence. No, I did not know this man; neither was it lost on me that he was one of Urso's handpicked men, so there was no telling what crimes he may have committed at the behest of our Primus Pilus. But then, so am I, I thought scornfully to myself; consequently, I said nothing, and we resumed the march, leaving one man behind. This march back from Siscia still ranks as the most silent one of my time under the standard. Truthfully, there was not much to say, not only because of what happened but due to the fact I was now the subject of even more hostility. Unfortunately, when there is nothing to occupy my mind with other t
opics I tend to brood and worry, and despite the truth of my service under Urso, I understood I had more than my share of worries. As the miles went by, the sun dropping lower and lower over our shoulders, I began examining the events of the day in detail. Specifically, I thought about breaking the arm of that barbarian woman and wondered, why would Urso order me to do that? I had stopped her; it was true she was flailing about, but I had a secure grip around her waist, so why had Urso deemed it necessary to possibly cripple the woman? I will not lie and say that I was overly concerned about the bones of a barbarian woman mending properly, but neither did I hold any malice towards her, and as much as possible for a young man with no children can, I understood that she was just acting like a mother. In fact, if I am being honest, I could easily see my mother Iras doing the same thing for me or any of my siblings. No, there was no real need to hurt the woman, so why had Urso ordered it? Turning it over in my mind, while I began forming what I suppose could be called a conclusion, as suspicious as I was of our Primus Pilus, even I had a hard time believing that I was the object of his aims, that the woman had just provided him with a means to an end. Suddenly, a cold ball of what felt like lead formed in the pit of my stomach as a horrible possibility hit me. Would he lay the blame for all that happened at my feet? Would he say that I had acted on my own, or even worse, had disobeyed his order to release the woman unharmed? Such was the nature of my thoughts as the walls of our camp came into view. But, while the others were clearly relieved that we were within sight of safety, with every step, my dread of what my future held grew larger. By the time we approached the Porta Decumana, I was convinced that my fate was sealed, that Urso had found a way to destroy me.
It was only when we reached our Legion area and dismissed to return to our respective huts that I began to think that perhaps I was not going to be arrested immediately. However, before I could go more than a pace or two, a rough hand grabbed my left arm, exerting enough force to spin me about. I was expecting to be face to face with Philo, except it was not him, nor Caecina or Mela. It was the former close comrade of the dead Gregarius, Ausello, and his face was contorted with the anger and grief he felt.
"You," he hissed as, over his shoulder, I glimpsed two other men standing a short distance behind him, both of them staring at me with cold expressions. "You're the reason for all this!"
Over the years, I have been told that I am unpredictable, that I do not always react or behave in a way that others might expect, given a certain situation. This is true; sometimes, I do laugh when it is not appropriate, and other times, I get angry when I should be conciliatory. And this time, it was the latter, as I felt a burst of fire that rushed through my body like a lightning strike igniting dry tinder.
"Fuck you," I snarled, and when I took a step forward towards Ausello, I saw the flicker of surprise in not only his eyes, but those of his comrades. "I did what the fuck I was told, by our Primus Pilus!"
This seemed to startle Ausello, as if he had not considered this as a possibility.
"What?" He shook his head. "I don't believe you! Why would the Primus Pilus do that?"
"Maybe you should ask him," I shot back. "Because I did exactly what I was told to do by the Centurion in command."
Ausello still looked angry, but he was also clearly confused.
Finally, he shook his head again. "No, I don't believe that. I think you just lost your head and caused…" He got no further, his eyes suddenly filling with tears.
That did more to douse my own rage than any words he could have spoken, as I realized that he was grieving for a man he considered a brother.
"I swear to you," I said more quietly, "I didn't do anything I wasn't told to do."
Ausello's head had dropped, but when he lifted his gaze, before he could say anything, we were interrupted by a voice from behind us.
"It's true, Ausello. I heard the Primus Pilus tell Pullus to break her arm."
Whirling about, I am sure my astonishment was easy to see at the sight of Caecina standing there.
"You heard him? You swear it on the…."
"Yes, Ausello," Caecina cut him off, "I swear on the black stone. Pullus just did what he was told."
Suddenly, Ausello seemed more embarrassed, although I do not know if it was from his chagrin at being told he was wrong or from his display of emotion.
"Well," he finally mumbled, "that's different." Only then did he look me in the eye, and his tone had a defiant ring to it as he added, "But I was just…"
I suddenly thrust my arm out, saying softly, "I know why, Ausello. And I don't bear you any ill will. If I were in your boots, I would have thought the same thing."
He only hesitated for an instant, just enough for me to notice, yet take my arm he did.
Wiping his eyes, he said awkwardly, "Then I'll be off. We may not have been able to send him on the boat proper, but we can mourn him in the right way."
Ausello spun about, his two friends falling in beside him as they left to return to their hut, leaving me to turn on Caecina.
"Why did you do that?" I demanded, not really caring that my tone was not as grateful as it perhaps should have been, but my suspicions of Caecina had only strengthened.
If I caught him off balance, he certainly gave no sign, flashing that damned grin of his.
"I suppose I could tell you because it was the right thing to do, but would you believe me if I did?"
"No," I said flatly.
Instead of angering him, that made him laugh, but he refused to be drawn out as we walked back to our own hut.
All he said was, "I have my reasons."
Still, no matter how hard I tried, I could not pry even one of those reasons out of him.
"Where have you been?"
A natural question, I knew, but one I was unwilling to answer, even to Domitius. He had insisted on accompanying me to the baths, except knowing that Philo, Caecina, and Mela would be there was only part of the reason I did not divulge anything to him. It was not that I did not trust Domitius; he had given me no cause for concern, although only when we actually went into battle would I know definitively what kind of man he was, as he would me. Frankly, I was too confused and nervous about what lay ahead to feel comfortable in telling Domitius anything about all that had taken place, and while I knew that I had not been responsible for the death of the Gregarius, I still did not want to endanger anyone else. At least, I thought, until I can work out exactly what is going on. Seeing that I was not going to offer up anything informative, Domitius grumbled but ceased in questioning me. Leaving the baths, I was physically clean, yet still felt dirty and desperate. Because we had been given leave for the rest of the evening until the call to retire, perhaps a third of a watch away, I debated going back to the Fourth Cohort to seek the counsel of my old Pilus Prior, or my Optio, if Corvinus was not available. I did not; I realized that constantly running to my former Century and Cohort for help would make my lot harder, not easier, and with that in mind, I returned to my hut. Philo smelled better, but everything else about him still stank in my nostrils, and I was in a dark mood as I retired for the night, sure that I would not find sleep easy. I was at least right about that.
The next morning, as always, we assembled for our morning formation, and it was with my heart in my mouth that I stepped into my accustomed spot. Although I did not know what to expect, I tried to prepare myself for some version of the previous day's events to be related to the Legion and, with it, Urso's attempt to blame me. But not only did I leave under my own power and not escorted by provosts, in many ways, I was more confused than ever. Every morning, without fail or variation, a roll call is held where every Centurion reports the strength of his Century. Additionally, this is also when we rankers would learn, if we had not already heard, which did happen at times, that one of us had deserted the standard. Consequently, when it came time for the Primus Pilus Posterior, the Centurion in command of the Second Century and he bellowed that there had been a deserter, followed with the name of the
Gregarius I knew was slain, I could not contain myself. Leaning backward slightly, I looked down our rank to try and catch the eye of Caecina, who I considered the most likely to respond, but while I could tell he saw me, he steadfastly refused to acknowledge it. Frustrated, I gave up, my mind racing as I tried to untangle what was already a knotty mystery of a situation. The reason for my confusion stemmed from a number of things, not least of which was the fact that, as far as I could tell or had heard, the Pilus Posterior was not one of Urso's special men. He had not been present the day before, nor had I heard any whisper that he answered to our Primus Pilus in all matters, official and otherwise. How, I wondered, had Urso either convinced him or forced him to list a man as a deserter?
Other than this claim of desertion, the ritual of the formation proceeded uneventfully, and the rankers were dismissed to return to their section huts while their respective Centurions received their orders of the day from the Primus Pilus. Of course, being in the Century of the Primus Pilus, we were the first to know, as Urso would pass instructions to Tiburtinus while he relayed his orders to the Pili Priores. That day was going to be devoted to weapons training, which I normally enjoyed the most out of all the training that we do, but my mind was too occupied with worry to take any enjoyment out of the prospect of being able to whack someone like Philo. On the subject of our Sergeant, he had been particularly subdued, which I had understood the day before; being covered in human excrement will humble the proudest man. But his mood had continued into this day, and I think of all the signs that something momentous and foreboding had occurred the day before, this was one that bothered me the most. Publius Philo was a profoundly stupid man, albeit with a healthy streak of low cunning, yet I could see that he was troubled, and if he felt that way, I knew this did not bode well for any of us.
Returning to our hut, we donned our armor, along with the arm pads, and attached the wicker faceguards, those not in the know chattering about the news of a desertion from the Legion. While not unheard of, it is rare for a veteran of a Legion like the deceased was to desert; when it happens, it is usually early in training or within the first year or two of a man's enlistment. But once a man either resigns himself to his fate, or more likely, is marched out to witness the kind of punishment meted out to deserters who are captured and brought back, they tend to stay put within the ranks. I sensed that Domitius was eyeing me, openly curious; I suppose I had reacted in some way when the topic of the supposed desertion came up, but I made sure I did not turn in a way whereby I would meet his gaze. The moment I was ready, I left the hut, where some of the others who dressed more quickly were waiting. Standing there was Tiburtinus, and without conscious thought, I approached him. But then, just a few paces away from him, he looked directly at me and shook his head.