Rome: Fury of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “You know good and well why, you mule’s ass. You are the best man in the cohort, if not the entire legion. The others look up to you. They take courage from you. If I flog you, I am not flogging a single man, I’m flogging the century. To put it simply, you win battles for us, Lucius. I cannot afford to lose you to something as petty as a flogging. Impaled on a Gaul’s sword after you’ve slain two score by your own hand would be acceptable.” Vitalis smiled. “But not a flogging.”

  “I am glad to see that winning that centurion’s plume did not remove all of your senses.”

  “Still, I would watch my step, were I you, Lucius. Piso knows we are old comrades. He knows I won’t do anything to you, so he might try to take matters into his own hands. Be wary.”

  “Is that why you wanted to talk?”

  “No, actually,” Vitalis’s face became grave again, and he stared back into his cup. “Lucius, in all the time we’ve known each other, have you ever known me to bother about superstitions or magic?”

  “Not that I ever witnessed.”

  “I’ve seen many things in my days, Lucius. In all of my campaigns, going back even before we were recruited into this legion, when I was a common soldier with Pompey in the East, I have witnessed things,” he paused, “no, horrors – horrors, that cannot be conveyed to the civilized men back in Rome and the great cities. They would not comprehend it. I must admit, I have seen some things I myself could not grasp, things I could never explain. You have been a soldier long enough. You know of what I speak, do you not?”

  Lucius nodded, though he had never given it much thought.

  “There are spirits that dwell among the primitive races that toy with them, antagonize them, even torment them. These spirits stay clear of the cities of civilized men, or if they go there they are ignored. But out here, among the trees, the river, the hills, the very earth that seems to watch you with one all-seeing eye – out here, these spirits thrive.”

  He looked off again as if deep in thought, and then a small smile appeared on his lips. “Did I ever tell you I was with Pompey when he took Jerusalem?”

  Lucius shook his head.

  “It was a marvelous city – marvelous and terrible all at once. I was with the Fourth then. We had marched down from Armenia to intervene in Judea, where the various factions were all beset with infighting. Pompey sided with the strongest and ended up subjugating the whole country. Remarkable man, that Pompey. Anyway, it was on the last day of the assault. My cohort took the Jews’ temple and lost quite a few legionaries doing it. After we had killed the last defender, and were finally in possession of the place, Pompey suddenly appears, bedecked in his black cuirass and flowing red cloak. He was a sight to see, I tell you. Of course, we all cheered. He came up the temple steps, and stopped several times for us to remove the Jew corpses in his path, but then he continued on, and we cheered some more. He could do no wrong for us, you know. Any one of us would have gotten down and kissed the stone bricks he walked on, if he asked us to.

  “Well, we had all heard about this sacred place in the heart of the Jewish temple, a holy place where they went to commune with their God. Only the high priests could go inside, and then only on certain days of the year. Amongst the legions, it was rumored that that story was a whole lot of mule dung, and the real reason no one was allowed to go inside was because that’s where they hid the gold of their fabled King…oh, what was it now… Solodrake, or Solomon, or something like that. I can’t remember. Well, Pompey, of course, had heard this rumor, too, and he was set and determined to prove it false. So, he marches right up to the door of the temple and demands to be let in. One of the old Jewish priests shows up, in his white robes and headdress, and stands in Pompey’s way, telling him that he can’t enter because it will be an affront to their God. Old Pompey wasn’t one to be told no. He orders the priest to stand aside, and when the priest doesn’t, Pompey orders him run through. A half-dozen of us leapt to do it – our blood was up after so many of our mates fell taking that place. I wanted to do it, but another got there before me and put his sword through the old priest’s belly. Pompey stepped over the old bugger and walked on.”

  Lucius stared at the floor as he listened, pretending to be interested in what Vitalis was saying. “So, what was in the room?”

  “What?”

  “The temple room. What was inside? Did Pompey ever say?”

  “Oh, I think so. I can’t remember rightly, but it wasn’t anything worth writing home about. Some old manuscripts and a few trinkets. I think that was all. But that’s not the point of my story, Lucius. That’s not what permanently etched every detail of that day into my memory for all time.”

  “What then?”

  “It was what the old priest said to Pompey as he lay there crumpled, his blood spilling down the very steps Pompey had just ascended – and not just what he said, but the manner in which he said it. The old bastard had been gutted by a gladius. He was dying with every breath, but his face bore no pain. It had a savage look of hatred that sent chills through even the toughest of us.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He pointed a bloody finger at our general, and said in a loud and clear voice, ‘A curse on you and your seed, Pompey of Rome! A curse upon all who befriend you! A curse on the nation that bore you, and on any city that bears your name! Hear this now, and remember! You march haughtily into The Lord’s holy place today, but a day is coming when you will walk alone, when you will be pursued like a common criminal and driven from all lands. You will die by Roman hands. You will die like a butchered animal. You will die alone, but your loved ones will see your death. You will die far from Rome and be buried in an unmarked grave!’” Vitalis paused, his face suddenly grim. “I have never forgotten it. It is strange. Of course, on that day, we all laughed. Pompey walked on inside the temple and the old priest died on the steps. Who would ever think that the great Pompey would be anything but the first man of Rome? But ever since that day, I have wondered. Could it all happen just as the old priest said?”

  “Surely not.”

  “I don’t know, Lucius. I thought the same as you, until a fortnight after the battle. It was dusk, and the men of my contubernium had latrine duty just outside the city walls. We heard a man scream, and turned to see that a stone brick, large as a man, had dislodged itself from the wall above us. It fell nearly five stories, and landed directly on the man next to me, smashing him to a pulp.”

  “The walls were old, I’m sure,” offered Lucius. “Either that, or some Jew dropped it over the side.”

  “No, no. You weren’t there, Lucius. The walls were sound. There was no Jew, and no five men alive could have hefted that stone.”

  “Surely, there is an explanation.”

  “There is,” Vitalis said, looking at him intensely. “The crushed man was the very same soldier who slew the priest.”

  Lucius smiled. “Come now, Vitalis.”

  “It’s true. I swear it on the medal of bravery.” He pointed to a medallion on his mail shirt. “And think about it, Lucius. The priest’s prophecy could well come true, now. Trouble started for Pompey the moment he returned to Rome from that campaign, and it has not stopped since. The Senate fighting him over land and pensions for his troops – one of the reasons I joined up again, you know that. They say Caesar and Pompey are now at odds. Someone on staff told me letters are flying fast between Caesar and Rome. Pompey and the senators are talking of war crimes, and prosecution.”

  Lucius sighed, not much caring about the politicians or their games.

  “But, I am getting away from what I wanted to tell you about, Lucius.” He took a long gulp from the cup, before continuing. “When the Seventh had just arrived in Gaul, and we were chasing the Helvetii from one end of the land to the other, I had an experience that affected me much like the one in Jerusalem. You remember the fight on the hill, when the Helvetii took their sweet time putting their wagons in lager before moving to attack u
s? That time when you damned near got skewered by a dart, had I not pushed you out of the way.”

  Lucius nodded.

  “After the battle, as you remember, we rounded up a good deal of the females and children to make slaves of them. Some to serve the army, and some to send back to Rome, Well, in the frenzy of wailing women and screaming infants, I caught sight of a face in the crowd staring back at me – a woman’s face. The brow was crinkled and the eyes were locked onto mine. The next moment, it was gone, lost in a mass of thousands.”

  “Perhaps she found you attractive, Vitalis.”

  “I saw it for only a heartbeat,” Vitalis continued as though he had not heard the remark. “But in that heartbeat, I saw every line, every crevice, every feature, and eyes that could pierce stone. Her expression struck me. It was not the look of suffering, or that of fear, as you might expect of one being led off into a life of captivity. Instead, she gazed at me with a look of disgust, of extreme disapproval. There were several legions of Romans on the field that day, but she looked at me as if I, and I alone, were responsible.”

  “Responsible for what?”

  “I wish I knew. It sent chills up my spine, I’ll admit it to you, Lucius. I’ve fought Gauls painted blue and looking like the stuff of nightmares, but they never affected me as that single solemn face in the crowd. And I haven’t even told you the worst of it.” Vitalis took another drink and then glanced at Lucius in a nervous manner, very unlike the stout centurion that Lucius knew him to be. It appeared to bring him great pain to continue. “You see, Lucius, after I thought about it for awhile, I realized that I knew that face. I had seen it before, just not anywhere within a thousand miles of that place. I recognized it, and though I had not laid eyes on it in many a year, I knew it like I knew my own reflection. You see, it was the face of my mother.”

  Lucius cleared his throat and looked at him uncomfortably. “You mean she resembled your mother?”

  “No!” Vitalis slammed the cup down, suddenly agitated. “It was my mother, damn you! It was her! There is no doubt in my mind!”

  Allowing Vitalis to recover his wits, Lucius said nothing, but contemplated the unlikelihood of such a thing. Years ago, when they were both in the ranks, Vitalis had once spoken of how his mother had died in a shipwreck when he was just a boy. The body was never recovered.

  “Once I realized who it was,” Vitalis went on in a forced tempered manner. “I sought her out as best as I could. I searched every division of the prisoners, begging them, pleading with them to help me find her. Asked did they know of a Roman woman among them, gave her description down to the wave of her hair, but they only returned blank stares. None wanted to help me, or none had heard of her. Of course, there were thousands of slaves, and I could not possibly have laid eyes on every one in my search, so I sent letters off to my kin, in Spain and in Rome, asking them to look into the matter once the slave caravan arrived there. I have been waiting more than a year now for a response. None has ever come. No doubt they all think me mad.” Vitalis sighed heavily and covered his face with one hand, as if he was suddenly overcome with emotion. “And now this happens today, and I am at my wits end, Lucius. I believe they may be right. I may be going mad.”

  “What happened today?” Lucius asked, but surmised that he knew the answer.

  “That old woman. I didn’t see her face until I had slain her.” Vitalis was sobbing now. “It was her, Lucius! It was my mother!”

  Lucius shifted in his chair. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t, I don’t. She had the same damn condemnatory look, just as she had a year ago – even as she bled to death. Then she spoke to me, Lucius. She spoke to me. It was my mother’s voice. I’ll never forget that voice.”

  “What did she say?” Lucius asked, though he was less eager to hear the answer than he was to try to discern just how far Vitalis’s brain had degenerated. There could be no doubt now that the centurion was hallucinating. Lucius had seen it before in other legionaries, though seldom.

  As if he was reading Lucius’s thoughts, Vitalis’s sobbing suddenly ceased. He looked into Lucius’s eyes solemnly. “Do you think me mad, my friend? Does a mad man confide only in one he trusts, or does he tell the world? I know it seems fantastic, but I swear in my mind this has happened!” He looked at his hands. “These hands have slain the mother that bore them! I am cursed, Lucius – cursed!”

  “What did she say?” Lucius asked again.

  Vitalis put a hand to his face, as if he was having trouble saying the words. “She told me to take the ring from her hand when she died, and keep it with my father’s.” Vitalis looked at the ring on his finger through watered eyes. “I don’t know what I did after that, Lucius. I seem to remember seeing something on her finger that very much looked like my mother’s ring. But I was too far gone to look any further. I believe I ran away, and the next thing I know, I’m standing before Piso, feeling as though I had been to the underworld and back. I honestly don’t know what happened.”

  Lucius looked at him uncertainly. “Then, you told all of this to the tribune?”

  Vitalis nodded. “Part of it.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He said that he would discuss my irrational behavior with the legate when we rejoined the legion.”

  “Perhaps you are suffering from an ailment, my friend?” Lucius said carefully. “Perhaps a trip to the infirmary would - ”

  “And let Piso take my century from me after the physician declares me mad as Dionysius? I would rather die first, Lucius! I will not face such dishonor. You will promise to run me through before that happens! Do you understand me?”

  Half-expecting such a response, Lucius threw up his hands and sighed. “Then there is nothing left for us to do but go back to that woman’s corpse and examine the ring on her hand. If the ring is there, as you say, then you are not mad. Some trick of the fates has placed your mother in the land of the Belgae and then placed you in a circumstance to slay her. If that is the case, you are not to blame. A man cannot defy the fates.” Lucius paused. “But if we search the woman’s body and do not find the ring…”

  “I know,” Vitalis said considering. “One outcome is as bad as the other, but it must be done.” He looked at Lucius. “I could never go back there, Lucius. I cannot go. I will not go. You must do it.”

  “Now?”

  “This instant!” he said. “Before the wolves carry her off. My mother’s ring is the duplicate of my father’s. If you recover it, then I can prove to the tribune that I am not mad.”

  Lucius nodded, though he had little hopes for a successful outcome. He was certain that Vitalis was suffering from a blow to the head, but he could not turn his back on him.

  “I suppose I can do it,” Lucius finally replied. “But it will require a pass from the tribune to go outside the walls.”

  “I will get it,” Vitalis said furtively, standing and buckling on his sword belt. “That bastard must allow me to prove my sanity. Meet me by the decumanus gate in one hour. Arm yourself well, my friend. If this was not such a sensitive matter, I would consider letting you take Jovinus and some of the others with you. But then the whole cohort would be calling me mad by sunup.”

  Lucius nodded, but wondered if that might not indeed be the case. He rose to leave, but Vitalis stopped him before he reached the tent door.

  “Lucius. My gratitude to you, my friend.”

  III

  It was well after midnight, when the south gate closed behind Lucius and the perfect order of the torch-lit camp was replaced by the dark, untamed world before him. The surrounding forest was indiscernible, merely a deeper shade of blackness against the star-filled sky. Packs of wolves howled in the distance, their song filtering through the trees like that of the sirens of Odysseus.

  It had taken much longer than anticipated to get the tribune’s approval. Lucius had waited at the gate for nearly two hours before a very distraught Vitalis showed up with pass in hand, his mood ind
icative of the ordeal he had undergone to obtain it. Even with the pass, the sentries had only reluctantly opened the gate to let Lucius into the black world beyond.

  The pool and field, where the century had unwound hours before, was now a sea of darkness that merged with the black of the surrounding tree line. In the distance, the auxiliary camp was lit by several bonfires. The song and laughter of the Aedui floated across the dark field. Over there, the spirits were flowing freely, in sharp contrast to the silent discipline of the Roman camp.

  Lucius did not expect it would take long to find the woman’s body. His only fear was that it might have been disturbed or rifled. The wolves were up, but still far away. He needed to get to the body first.

  He groped his way around the field, finding the edge of the pond quite unexpectedly by dousing a foot in the muddy shallows. He remembered the general vicinity well enough and felt sure that he could find his way there, but as he knew from a dozen campaigns in Gaul, the forest could play tricks on the mind. A spot viewed from one angle never looked the same from another. The trees had a way of throwing off all estimates of distance and depth.

  He approached the tree line, and felt the dark void within, as if the trees were beckoning him to come inside. Certainly, there could be Belgae there watching the Roman camp, perhaps even watching him at this very moment.

  After cautiously approaching the area where he guessed the woman had fallen, he began to move outward in a widening spiral, the long cool grass brushing the exposed skin between his bootstraps. The first attempt turned up nothing. So, he displaced the center of his search several paces, and then searched again in the same manner. He did this several more times, before concluding that the woman’s body was no longer there. It was possible the wolves had already dragged it off, but he could not hear any of the baying or crying often heard from feeding wolves competing for a position around a bleeding carcass. The wolf song that now haunted the night sounded very alone, very sad, and very far away.