by Karrie Roman
Drusus cast his gaze around the assembled men, satisfied with the pride stiffening their spines and raising their chins high. Stirring words could motivate the laziest of men. “Eat, find your beds, rest well tonight. You begin to train at first light. Dismissed.”
Drusus had given a similar speech many times before, when welcoming new men to his century, but it hadn’t been delivered in quite the same way this time, because his thoughts were snagged on the familiar name. Drusus had struggled to shift his gaze from the man he suspected to be his brother, and his voice hadn’t been quite as fervent. He stayed on the platform, watching keenly as the men dispersed. He wouldn’t approach the man yet, as much as he wanted to. Drusus had a way of doing things, and he’d stick to it, regardless.
Once the men left, Drusus made his way back to his barrack. By now, Marcus would be assigning the arrivals to their bunk rooms where they’d meet the men in their contubernium. A little after they’d settled into their barrack room, Drusus normally approached each man to meet them individually. He yearned to seek out the golden-haired man, but seventeen years of strict discipline in the legions had taught him control. He’d wind his way through the bunk rooms as usual.
Drusus placed his helmet in his private rooms and took a deep breath. He wasn’t quite sure how he wanted this to go. He yearned to see his brother, but he did not wish to meet him again as a legionary, knowing that Cal had been condemned to years of war as he had been. He was unable to imagine how he’d manage to fight effectively in battle with the fear of harm coming to his little Cal tightening along his spine. Though, of course, Cal was not so little any more.
Drusus was considered by many to be fearless in battle, but this was wrong; he wasn’t fearless—only a fool was. It was simply that he had managed to control his fear. Would he be able to maintain his ruthless control now that he might have something—someone—to desperately fear losing?
The twelve new men were being split up and housed in rooms three, four, and seven. Drusus made his way first to room three, where six of the twelve recruits were housed. In this room, they would cook, eat, and rest. It was a tiny space for so many, but the legions were not a luxury villa on the coast such as many senators might own. The other two occupants of the room were hardened and experienced warriors in his century. Drusus trusted them to guide the young men and not allow any trouble to brew amongst their new bunkmates.
None of the six men in room three were the golden-haired one. Drusus stayed for as long as his twitchy body allowed, taking time to learn names, memorise faces, and take their measure. He was pleased with what he’d seen of the new men in the small amount of time he’d spent with them.
Room four housed another four of his new legionary, and again Drusus was pleased with the men, though none were his brother. Through the wall he heard the men next door—relaxed now their centurion had left—talk and laugh as they got to know one another. After he felt he’d stayed long enough in room four, Drusus left knowing the same sense of relief came to those men once he’d gone. He was popular amongst his men, well regarded, but the sign of a good warrior—and good leader—was a healthy respect from his men. They could relax around him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe there wasn’t a small part of them on alert whenever they were in his presence.
As he approached room seven, a tingle of nerves coursed through his body. The tall, fair-haired man who could be his brother had to be in this room, and Drusus was unaccountably nervous. His baby brother, who had once followed him like a shadow, mimicking his gestures, was possibly a mere pace away. Drusus steadied his nerve and entered the room.
All eight men stood, as was expected, and turned to their centurion. Drusus sought out the tallest of them. The white curls were the same, the cherubic face and pudgy body had of course changed, but Drusus saw the small boy he’d known in the handsome man standing before him. Calpurnius wore a smile, so like the ones Drusus remembered that he couldn’t stop his own from forming.
“Brother,” he gasped, almost losing hold of his control. “It is good to see you grown into the man I knew you would become.”
“Mother hoped I would run into you, Drusus. Never would she have expected this.” Calpurnius smiled wider at the mention of their mother.
“She lives?”
“She lives well, brother. She married a good man, who treats her as a goddess, some years back. You need not fear she has been left alone.”
“I am glad of it. I have heard nothing for many years. Letters do not easily make their way here.” Drusus caught a glimpse of some of the other men in the bunk and easily noticed their confusion and surprise. “This man before you is my brother, Calpurnius. I have not seen him since he was little more than a babe.”
Calpurnius shook his head and smiled at his bunkmates. “Brother,” Calpurnius said, “this is Caius Vitellius. His family are our neighbours. We trained together at the Fields of Mars before leaving to make our way here. He is a good friend to me and an excellent soldier.”
Drusus turned to greet Caius and found himself short of words. Caius Vitellius must be one of the gods. He was not quite as tall as Calpurnius, broad in the shoulder and narrow in the hips. His muscles were well formed but not overly thick. A mop of wild bronze hair framed his chiselled face. Full lips pouted below a straight Roman nose and eyes that penetrated and warmed the constant chill in Drusus’s bones. He stole Drusus’s breath.
He soon found sense and words to speak. “It is good to have such a friend to my brother and another able soldier with us, Caius.”
“The honour is mine, Centurion. Cal spoke well and often of you from the moment I met him.” Caius’s voice was deep and cultured, and Drusus had the strangest sensation as though lightning had struck his spine.
Drusus had shared his body with other men many times. He far preferred the hard planes of a man to the rounded softness of a woman. But he had never been so drawn to another person before; he’d never felt as though he may burst into flames at the sight of another. Blood flooded to his cock, and, mortified, he knew he must not linger in the man’s presence.
“He remembered me?”
“Your mother kept you in his memories. She shared stories of you and your letters with him. He shared those stories with me, and he allowed me to read some of your letters. I felt as though I knew you before I even set eyes upon you.”
Drusus coughed, spluttering a little as he replied, “I have some matters to attend to, but I will see you at meal. I have ordered meat for your arrival. We usually eat together as a century when we have new men join us. Tacitus, see to them.” He turned and fled the room.
He’d been abrupt in his response to Caius’s kind words, and eight men were left behind in the room no doubt questioning what they had just witnessed, but Drusus had been too shocked by his reaction to Caius to stay. He needed to regain command of his body before he saw the beautiful man again, so he sought out his room.
Unfortunately, when he reached the solitude there was no control to be had. Images of the bronze-haired man tormented him even as he tried to do some work. In the end, he tossed his stylus aside, frustrated with his inability to forget Caius Vitellius. He groaned and eventually relieved the ache in his cock by his own hand. In the moments after he’d found his pleasure, he knew the release was empty and only temporary. When he was once again looking into those warm brown eyes and listening to Caius’s dulcet voice, he’d undoubtedly find himself in the same predicament. Drusus wondered if he’d ever be able to slake the lust Caius Vitellius had aroused in him without taking the man himself into his arms—and perhaps not even then.
A short time later, Drusus wandered amongst his men as they engaged in a rowdy evening meal. Usually his men cooked their own food and ate with those of their contubernium in their room, but tonight they ate together as a century. He’d paid for the meat from his own purse in celebration of the new men who were joining them. He had seen other centurions do this when he’d been a legionary. He always believed it f
ostered goodwill amongst the men, both new and old.
Calpurnius was easily spotted, thanks to his height and vibrant hair. Drusus longed to sit with his brother and talk. He longed to learn what type of man his brother had become. He had written many letters home, but very few from his mother had found their way to him. Beside Cal, sat Caius; his head was tilted back in laughter. Beauty was a rare thing in the life of a legionary, but he beheld it there in Caius’s amusement. Drusus had never seen anything more beautiful than Caius caught in that moment. He’d never seen a person so consumed with joy before—Caius’s entire body screamed with it.
“Centurion,” Calpurnius called as Drusus approached, his smile wide. “Will you share wine with your brother?” Calpurnius was as happy at twenty-one as he had been at four. Though Drusus knew he’d yet to see true battle. All the new men of his century were untried in combat. Drusus’s blood shivered as fear that his brother’s easy smiles could not last in his new life wracked his body.
“Gratitude, Cal. I would talk with you.” Drusus squeezed into the space his men made for him, doing his best to avoid turning eyes to Caius. He couldn’t risk another flush of lust because of the handsome man.
Calpurnius poured him some wine, and Drusus dutifully took a mouthful. He’d eaten earlier in the privacy of his room, so he was free to simply talk with his brother.
“You have grown strong and tall, Cal. You are healthy?”
“Mother says I am as strong as a bull, and I cannot be destroyed, as hard as I may try.”
“And he has tried many times, Centurion. He is fearless,” Caius said, bumping his shoulder against Calpurnius’s as he spoke. The simple gesture spoke of the warm friendship between the two men. Drusus’s body crackled at the thought of such intimacy with Caius—though his thoughts were not of mere friendship with him but of something far more.
“He was fearless as a babe, forever getting under hoof of the beasts, though often they walked by with a lick to his fat cheeks. And he was many times reckless—a trait I hope he no longer bears.”
“The gods watch over me, Drusus, but I am no fool.” Cal smirked and Drusus imagined the memories he must be recalling. He’d missed the entirety of his little brother’s life and the familiar ache of that knowledge pressed upon him. “How have you fared, Drusus? I see your hair greys at the temple. It suits you well.”
“I’ve had some wounds, but the gods watch over me too.”
“Come, brother, share some stories of your bravery in battle. Tell us how you came to receive the torque and amulae I see you are wearing.”
“It was a matter of being in the right place at the right time.” Drusus shrugged while fingering the golden necklace about his throat. He knew his measure as a man and never needed to boast of it. He would not wear the decoration if it was not expected of him.
“Our centurion does not like to boast of his courage, but I was there the day he earned his prize. His battle cry shook the earth, and he slew countless in our advance, defended many of his men and fought till the last. He looked like Mars himself on the battlefield,” Marcus called loudly to the cheers of his men.
Colour and warmth rose in his cheeks under the praise. His gaze caught on Caius, whose warm eyes were fixed on him, what lay behind them unreadable in this light. Drusus flicked his gaze away but just as swiftly glanced back at him. Caius’s gaze was unwavering and Drusus burned under the scrutiny.
“Your brother has not your desire for notice, Cal,” Caius said, his eyes lowering to take in Drusus’s form. Drusus’s body reacted to the attention, his blood heating, muscles tensing. “He is not one to strut about and seek out praise.”
Drusus swallowed thickly, searching for a response, though none came. This attraction to Caius was something new and dangerous. As the chatter around him continued, Drusus wondered how he would manage it.
Chapter Two
MARCUS HAD THE men up and training at the rise of the sun the next day. The dull thud of their heavy training gladius as they thrust into the wooden posts was a comfort to Drusus after his years in the legions. Dust kicked up at their feet, their grunts echoing, sweat pricking at their brow. Such a familiar sight, yet in light of his brother’s arrival everything appeared to be in a different hue today.
Soon his optio would have the men marching in formation so each would know exactly where they should be when the time for battle came. Marcus was exceptional at his tasks and well-liked by the men. It wouldn’t be long before he rose from optio to be a centurion too. Though Drusus hoped that day would come after he retired. He would be lost without Marcus’s steadying influence.
Only weeks remained until they would march from their winter camp at Vetera and cross east of the Rhine. Though many of the Germanic tribes now bowed to Roman rule, a few still raged against it. They could expect to be met by hostile forces at some point during the summer months once they’d crossed the river, but any rebellion should be easily quashed. No longer was this the hostile land Tiberius and Drusus Germanicus had encountered years ago.
Their Governor and military commander, Varus, would use the summer months to try to crush the remaining will of the Germanic people and collect taxes. But Drusus had been fighting with them and against them for years and knew they were a fierce and brave people, unlikely to easily surrender. Forcing Roman dominance on them too hurriedly and too absolutely would be foolish. Varus’s rise in taxes would not go over well with the tribesmen.
After midday, Drusus would be called to the war council with the other centurions and those far above his rank. Not that they were at war, but the Germanic tribes were not entirely subjected to Roma’s rule, so plans must be made. Until he was called, Drusus would wander among his men, lending aid to their training where needed.
As he walked amongst them, they called to him in greeting. He did his best to keep his mind focused, but he was bitterly tired. He’d barely closed his eyes last night, his mind awhirl with thoughts of his brother—and more often than proper, his brother’s beautiful friend, Caius.
Before he was consciously aware of where his wayward feet were taking him, Drusus came to stand at the end post where Calpurnius and Caius were training together. Evidently the men were good friends, and for a terrifying moment a fleeting stab of jealousy pierced his guts that perhaps they were more.
“Good morning, Centurion,” Calpurnius called as he thrust his gladius at the wooden post, a giant smile spread across his face. Drusus envied his brother his simple lightness of spirit, but he knew such innocence wouldn’t last long out here in the wilds of Germania.
“Brother,” he replied, “Your aim is good and your thrust powerful. You will do well in battle.”
“Gratitude. My prowess is minor compared to Caius. You should see him strike. He is as quick as an asp, and though smaller in size, his blows would fell me.”
Drusus’s gaze flicked to Caius, who stood proudly under the compliment though his head was lowered—a sign of a humble nature. “Speed is good in battle as is strength, but it must be accompanied by accuracy. There is little point in striking at an opponent and stabbing only air, regardless of the swiftness of the stroke.”
His response was as he would have given to anyone, and yet Drusus suffered a pang of guilt because he’d sounded as though slighting Caius. He had meant his words as wisdom, yet from Caius’s pink cheeks and angered eyes he had caused offence instead.
“How is your accuracy, Caius?” he asked, attempting to rectify his blunder.
“Shall I show you, Centurion?”
Before Drusus could formulate a reply, Caius moved to tack a small piece of material to the wooden post. He then took up position and struck the centre of the material over and over. He was quick, as Calpurnius had said, and he was accurate. The tip of his training gladius hitting the material with every stroke. Though accuracy against an unmoving block of wood was hardly an exact indicator of accuracy in the chaos of battle.
Caius’s form was perfect; his body easy in its movements, h
is muscles nicely bunching with each thrust and pull back, his legs well placed for balance. Drusus longed to trail his fingertips over the ridges of his tightly lined stomach and curl them around the muscles of his arms. Caius’s flawless skin was damp with sweat, so he looked as though he glistened in the warm sun. Drusus could have watched him from the rise of the sun until it fell from sight.
“He has good form, Drusus,” Marcus spoke quietly into his ear. Marcus always called him centurion when other ears could hear, but Drusus enjoyed the easy familiarity of Marcus using his name.
“He does. Shall we try him with a moving target?” Drusus smirked, already relishing the idea of sparring with Caius. “Bring me a wooden gladius.”
“You would fight him, Centurion?” Marcus asked with a hint of surprise in his tone. Drusus trained as much as any man in Vetera but he rarely sparred with a legionary.
“I would.” He said no more. He did not need to explain himself further, and Marcus would not ask.
The men around him, including Caius, had clearly overheard his words. They spoke in excited, hushed tones, sharing the news with others in the century. In moments, the men had formed a square shape around them to watch the coming spectacle.
Drusus expected he would beat Caius, if only because of his superior experience, but he did not think it would be an easy victory.
Laughter drew his gaze, and he watched his brother tilt his head back and chuckle. He looked exactly as he did as a boy, the sight warming Drusus. Cal patted Caius’s shoulder, still laughing. “And you say I tempt Jupiter to strike me down, Caius.” Cal laughed again and then moved to take his place amongst the men to watch.
Drusus drew closer to Caius, forcing him to look his way. The warmth in his pretty eyes was replaced with keen alertness. Drusus was literally itching to get his hands on him—in any way.
Marcus threw him a wooden training gladius and stood back with the rest of the men. Drusus took his stance. His superior height was often an advantage in battle, his longer reach allowing him to wound his opponent while his body remained out of their reach and unscathed. Caius’s speed may even things out.