by Griff Hosker
“The doctor says you are Felix, lucky.”
“Why is that doctor?”
“Two reasons, firstly the stone stopped before it entered your head fully,” he picked up a skull and showed him the eye sockets, “it is the brain behind these holes. Had it not stopped you would be dead.”
“And the other reason?”
“You had a good capsarius. He cleaned the wound well and there is no pestilence within. However I will have to sew your eye shut or it will fester and you could die.”
Wolf nodded. Marius had been about to leave and speak with the Legaste as he had been ordered but instead he said, “I will stay with you.” He gave a wan smile. “It is the least I can do for the warrior who saved my life.”
As the doctor prepared the cat gut Wolf said, “I did not think you had seen sir.”
“I didn’t but Gerjen told me. You saved me from Sura and I am grateful. Your men love you, you know?”
“I know.” He shrugged, “It has always been so.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes doctor.”
“I would use ice to numb the pain but we have none.” He gave him a piece of wood. “Bite down on this.”
Marius gave his hand to Wolf. “Squeeze hard on this. I have found that helps alleviate the pain.”
Marius saw Wolf wince as the needle went into his eyelid. In Wolf’s head, for he had his good eye closed, he was trying to see his mother back at the village but the searing heat of the needle made him want to cry. He was determined he would not. The doctor was, like all Greek doctors, highly skilled and he carefully placed the needle as close to the eye socket as he could. It would hurt the boy but many small stitches would help it to heal and to make it look better.
“Tell me doctor, how will this affect Wolf?”
“Eventually he will compensate for the loss of sight but for the next few months he will be vulnerable on his right side.”
“It will make defending himself difficult then?”
Wolf heard the words and made the connection. “I am not leaving the army sir!”
Smiling Marius said, “No one said that but Wolf I am afraid that you would not be able to defend the standard would you?”
Wolf hated the thought of not carrying the standard but he understood the Prefect’s words. “I suppose Gerjen could carry it until I am better.”
“Well we could do that anyway but I have a mind to promote you.”
“Promote me sir?”
“Yes Wolf, not the pay grade of an aquilifer but Decurion Bellatoris’ Chosen Man. It makes sense, the men follow you and the Decurion thinks highly of you.”
Wolf had forgotten the pain of the stitches. He loved being standard bearer but he would be a leader! “Thank you sir. I think that would be the best for the turma.”
The doctor put the last stitch in and stepped away smiling. “Finished! Now I will mix some medicine for you to take away the pain.”
“Wolf while the doctor does that I will see the Legate. Wait for me here.”
“Yes sir.” Wolf looked around the doctor’s room. It was filled with amphorae and dishes. He watched the busy little doctor with a mortar and pestle grinding up white seeds. “Can I look around sir?”
“Of course but do not touch anything. We have poisons here.”
As he wandered he asked, “Why do you have poisons? You are a shaman are you not? You heal people.”
“Shaman eh? I have not heard that word in a long time. Some poisons, given in a mild dose make a person go close to death and sleep. Sometimes that is what the body needs.”
“And if you give too much?”
“Then you try to save them by grinding charcoal and mixing it with water.”
Wolf had always been interested in medicine and he had a curious mind. “Which poisons?”
“Oh any poison. It makes the patient vomit and the residue acts like a filter. Sometimes it does not work but it is always available.” He poured the white liquid he had made into a small amphora. “There, drink a little of this each nigh. I have given you enough for seven nights.”
“Thank you doctor.”
The doctor looked closely at Wolf. “I meant what I said you are lucky but you are also clever. You will make a good leader.”
“How do you know?” Wolf hoped that this man, the cleverest he had ever met, knew something he did not.
“You ask questions and you are logical.” Wolf did not understand the Greek word and had a puzzled expression. “It means you can take emotion out of your plans. You want to remain standard bearer, I could see that, and yet you knew that it made sense to allow another to carry it. That is logical. Thinking with the heart is dangerous. The Gods gave us minds and we should use them. A word of advice, do not lose your temper. It gets you nowhere and once you have lost it, how do you regain it? Better not to lose it than look for it. Here,” he picked up a metal bowl the size of a small shield; it was highly polished, “see yourself as others see you.”
Wolf saw himself for the first time and he gasped in horror at the bruised side of his face. “I am ugly!”
The doctor laughed and went to his drawer. “Your eye will heal and there are many women who will say that you are handsome,” almost under his breath he added, “and many men too. Here wear this.” He tied a leather patch over the offending eye and Wolf sighed with relief. It did not look so fearsome. “You may keep this but I suspect that you will, eventually not wear it,” he shrugged, “it is up to you.”
Wolf took the patch and put it on. It felt strange. He could bear the pain and he could bear the scar. They had both been earned as a warrior. He was truly a warrior now.
“Ready Wolf?” The Prefect’s voice sounded from outside.
“Coming sir; thank you doctor.” He placed the bowl down and clasped the doctor’s arm like a soldier.
The doctor was bemused. “Thank you, er, Wolf.” As the boy left the doctor reflected that many so called civilised Romans would not have behaved with such dignity as that barbarian. He had admired his stoic attitude whilst being stitched. He was also intrigued by the questions. That trooper was one to watch.
As they rode back to their camp the Prefect was distracted. He heard Wolf ask something and realised he had not been listening. “Sorry Wolf I am far away. That patch looks good. What did you ask?”
“I wondered sir, what the Legate wanted.”
“Tell me Wolf, how do you and the others feel about your names?”
“Our names sir?”
“Yes, Gerjen for example, would he object if he were not called Gerjen but, say, a Roman name such as mine.”
“But he is Gerjen, if you change his name, he will still be Gerjen.” Wolf could not understand the question. The Romans had different names for the trees and the plants but the plant remained the same whatever it was called.
“Were you born and named Wolf?”
He grinned, “No sir, it was because of my appetite. My mother named me Mada.”
“So you had a name chosen for you?”
“Yes sir. I am sorry sir but where is this going?”
They were passing the Gallic camp and the auxiliaries shouted and grinned at them. Marius raised his arm in salute. “Those Gauls all have Roman names and yet they were born with Gallic names.”
Wolf could now see where the questions were going. “The Legate wishes us to take Roman names. Is that what you are saying sir?”
“In a nutshell yes.”
Wolf wondered about names. He would always be a wolf in his head. He had the wolf token around his neck but he was also Chosen Man and he answered to that. “How do Roman names work?”
“You have a Praenomina, mine is Marius then you have a Nomen, like a family name, mine is Ulpius and sometimes, especially when you become Roman you have a Cognomen which says something about you, mine is Proculus and it means born during a father’s absence.”
“So you were born when your father was away?”
His curious mind could
not help coming up with more questions. It was like talking to an inquisitive child. “No Wolf that goes back some time in my family’s history.”
“I think we could ask the men and many would do it sir. It still keeps you as you were and your own name is in your heart anyway.”
“Would you do it?”
“What is Roman for Wolf sir?”
“Lupus.”
He nodded and rolled the name around in his head. “A family name, that would be hard, what is yours sir?”
“Ulpius.”
“So I could be Lupus Ulpius. I like that.”
Marius smiled, this would work. “And of course the doctor gave you your name.”
“Did he sir, what is that? One eye?”
“No , Felix, lucky. Lupus Ulpius Felix.”
Wolf grinned, “That sounds Roman and I like it. I do not know about the others but if it helps I will be the first Pannonian with a Roman name.”
Flavius was waiting for them when they rode in. “How did it go sir?”
“Er, Felix, bring your turma to the command tent please.” Wolf walked off grinning.
“Felix?” Flavius was totally confused both at the name and Wolf’s reaction.
“Let me explain.” He looked at the departing warrior, “That one is interesting let me tell you.” He then explained about the Legate’s need for roman names and the discussion with Wolf. “I took the liberty of offering him Chosen Man. I realise that is your prerogative.”
“I totally agree with you sir. He is the perfect choice but how did you get him to agree to give up the standard?”
“It is his eye. For a while he will not function as efficiently on that side. At least if he has a shield he can turn to defend himself. He took it well.”
They heard the murmur of voices outside of the tent. They saw the turma lined up. Wolf was holding the standard and grinning at Marius. It was as though the two of them were sharing a joke. “Fist turma reporting as ordered sir.”
“Thank you Lupus Ulpius Felix.”
The Decurion joined with the turma in looking at the two men who seemed to now something they did not. “You have a new Chosen Man, Sesquiplicarius Felix. Gerjen would you accept the post of aquilifer?”
“Yes sir!” He beamed with pride.
“Now you may have noticed that Wolf here has a new name. It is a Roman name. That is because he is to be awarded a phalera for his bravery.” It was the turn of Wolf to look surprised. “The Prefect has ordered that only those men with Roman names can be awarded a phalera.” He took a deep breath. “Gerjen and Kadarcs you showed great courage yesterday and I have recommended that you also receive a phalera.”
“And you want to know will we change our names sir?”
“Yes Gerjen. I want to know it the First Turma will be, once again, the pathfinders for the ala, and take on this duty.”
They all looked at Wolf who nodded forcefully. “Then, yes sir I will.”
The ceremony was held in the main camp. Only those honoured were present. There were three from the ala and eight from the Fifth Alaude. The Gallic Prefect had told Marius that they deserved more but Marius was pleased that, at least they had some recognition.
The aide, Appius, had a sour look on his face as he handed the shiny piece of metal to the Legate who managed to look down his nose as he, reluctantly handed them to the Pannonians. “Decurion Casca Petronius Paterculus.”
Cava stepped forwards and took his medal, “Thank you Legate.”
“Sesquiplicarius Lupus,” the Legate wrinkled his nose at the choice of name, “Ulpius Felix.”
Wolf did not care, “Thank you sir.”
“Aquilifer Serjenus Ulpius Lupus.”
Gerjen shyly took it and murmured, “Thank you General.”
Gerjen had wanted the same family name as his friend, as did the others in the turma but Cava still felt he owed much to Flavius and he took his family name. The rest of the ala was interested in the idea but not all took the plunge. Wolf knew that they would come around for he had noticed that they were becoming more Roman each day. They used the language easily although there were new words, such as felix, which caused some confusion. Some of them had even been persuaded to visit the newly built baths. Their patrols, as winter drew on, taught them to use their new equipment more efficiently and the cloaks, which had been seen as cumbersome at first, were grateful used to keep out the biting winds and give them some protection from the biting snow showers. The Legate still had a low opinion of the ala but it gradually improved as they captured Chauci who tried to infiltrate the camps to sabotage and terrorise the Roman invader. Their camp was the one closest to the danger area and, under the watchful eye of Aulus Murgus they became vigilant in the extreme.
As the first signs of spring arrived Decurion Paterculus was on patrol when he saw the column of men trotting towards him. He recognised the Tribune from the Ninth, Gnaeus Marcius Celsus. “Sir, what brings you over here?”
Celsus waved his arm behind him, “More recruits for you.” He seemed to see the Pannonians for the first time. “I almost did not recognise you.” He waved his hand before his face. “What happened?”
“The Legate disapproved and we now have Roman names, “he shrugged, “you get used to it. You have along journey back then sir.”
“No Decurion, we are to rejoin the rest of the legion in Britannia.” He pointed to the river. We sail from here. We have the foot sloggers with us.”
“The Prefect will be glad to see you sir. If you will excuse me I have a patrol to finish.” As they rode down the line of new recruits Cava and the rest of the troopers wondered had they ever looked that way. Their hair hung lank down their shoulders or in a pony tail and their moustaches and beards were festooned with bones.” They would change as he had.
The Tribune decided not to accept the invitation to dine with the Legate, much to his obvious annoyance. As he said to Flavius and Marius as he joined the ala’s officers in their quarters, “I will be serving in Britannia. The last thing I need is to have to watch my manners. I prefer eating with barbarians. Much more my style!”
“I thought Britannia was pacified.”
“No Prefect. This character Caractacus is causing all sorts of problems. We are joining the rest of our legion to put an end to him. The Eight has replaced us in Pannonia. These six hundred recruits may well be the last ones you get for a while. All the ones who wanted to fight have fled north to join the Marcomanni.”
Cava almost spat out his food, “But they are our enemies!”
“They are now seen as allies.”
Marius pointed across the river. “Some of the last recruits, the ones you were worried about, they deserted and joined the Chauci so I suppose we can understand it.”
“You’ll be campaigning again in the summer then?”
“I suppose so but until we actually build forts on the other side of the river we will never have true peace.”
They watched their friends in the Ninth sail away. it was not the last they would see of them but the next time they did would being the Ninth’s darkest hour. Marius had his work cut out assimilating the new men. “Flavius, I think we merit a Decurion Princeps now. That will be you. You can take charge of the training of the new recruits. I am going to Promote Felix to the post of Decurion.”
“Good he will do well.”
“We will make Casca the Decurion of the First Turma and move Felix and the rest of your old turma into Turma two. Now we need other officers who would you recommend?”
“Most of Felix’s men.”
“We can’t take them all but how about taking Quadratus, Cicurinus and Paullus?” Darvas, Kadarcs and Panyvadi had shown themselves to be highly self reliant and efficient.
“They will hate it but they will be good officers and we can spread some of the new men in the other turmae.” They had learned not to separate and isolate new men. Sura had been a salutary lesson to them.
The Legate, however, did not give them time to
settle in the new men. The Prefects and tribunes were ordered to the Praetorium where Appius waited with written orders for each of them. “Gentlemen we have been asked to teach the Frisii a lesson. They have been raiding the ships taking supplies to Britannia. The Classis Britannica is busy supporting the fighting in the west and the Navarchus tells me that he cannot control the pirates on his own. We need to destroy their ships and their towns.”
The Gallic Prefect, Arminius, came from the north coast of Gaul and understood the nature of the people. “But sir, if you destroy their ships they will starve, they are a sea going people.”
“Then perhaps the lesson will be a good one. Do not raid Rome! This time we will be ferried by ship. The disaster of the bridge will not be repeated and besides the Rhenus is wider near the Frisii land. The ships will tow barges with the horses of the cavalry. The Fifth will remain here and we will use the First and Second Cohorts of the Fifteenth. This sort of work is best performed by auxiliaries.” Marius and Arminius exchanged a knowing look. It meant they were expendable.
Deep in the forests north of the river, Herrmann and his chiefs were seated around a fire with Sura. The winter had been a sombre one; the attack on the village had cost two of the chief’s sons their lives; the abortive attempt to prevent the evacuation of the slaves had cost many brave warriors and the tribe wanted revenge. Herrmann was a cautious and wise chief. He had lost too many men to be able to launch the attack he wished but he needed to send a message to the Romans that the incident was not forgotten.
“You fought with the Romans. What do they fear?”
Sura had acquitted himself well in the battle but his wound had been grievous and he still found difficulty in breathing. The warrior called Wolf would pay for that but it had given him much time to think about the correct way to wage war against his former enemies. “They think they are secure behind their river and behind their ditches and ramparts. If we could make them fear us at night then they would begin to weaken.”There were nods around the fire for that suggested a few brave and reckless men rather than risking the heart of the tribe. “We need to tempt them across the river again but this time, we must ambush them.” He told them the story he had heard about the Teutonberger massacre and they seemed impressed.