by Karrie Roman
All of the men assembled—with the exception of Calpurnius and Caius—were seasoned veterans who were excellent in combat, especially hand-to-hand. Drusus couldn’t understand Marcus’s choice of Caius.
“Men,” he began, faltering a little as he struggled to recompose himself. “We march tomorrow for Haltern to warn them of our impending departure on summer campaign. Pack sufficient equipment and supplies for two days. All of your other equipment will be brought along on the wagons when the legion marches out. We leave at first light.”
Drusus nodded at his men as they thanked him upon receiving their orders, but his gaze wandered constantly and unbidden to Caius, who remained behind with Cal when all others had left.
“Is all well, Dru?” Cal asked once the room was emptied of the legionaries.
“Of course, Cal.”
“I am surprised to see Caius and me here, even if we are your best soldiers.” He winked, though Drusus saw his eyes narrow as he watched him. His brother knew this was a mission for experienced warriors, not a couple of untested soldiers, despite his joking words.
“I would not risk you being left behind,” he mumbled, unable to lie to his brother but unwilling to speak the reason.
“Dru, what do you mean?” Cal leaned closer and dropped the volume of his words. “Is there danger for me here?”
Drusus smiled at Cal’s frankness and determined to repay candour with candour. “I angered Varus, and I am being punished. I would not have you left here to face his wrath in my place.”
Calpurnius gripped Drusus’s shoulders and nodded. “Even now, watching over me, brother.” Cal’s gaze flicked to Caius as though only now remembering the other man was there, and the questioning look returned to his face. “And what of Caius?”
Caius merely stood watching intently as he was spoken about. Drusus wasn’t sure what to say. The truth was he didn’t know Marcus’s reasons for choosing Caius. “Marcus selected him. I am uncertain why.” Drusus glanced at Caius, aware of the offence he may have caused. “I mean no insult, Caius. You are a capable soldier, but it is generally the more experienced who go on these duties.”
“No insult, Centurion. I will not let you down,” Caius replied with determination written upon his handsome features.
“Go and pack and then find your rest, both of you. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
The two men left him immediately after their dismissal, allowing Drusus to complete his packing before going in search of Marcus. He found him alone, leaning against the wall with a mug of wine in hand. Drusus poured himself one and joined his friend.
“You chose well, Marcus. Gratitude,” Drusus said as he walked up to lean beside Marcus. They looked back on most of the camp from this position. It was easy to spot the praetorium where it sat on the brow of the hill. Standards and flags blowing in the breeze above it. Farther along soldiers were marching along the ramparts. It looked to be an entire cohort who had probably displeased their centurions and were serving their punishment.
“I would have the best go with you, Drusus,” Marcus mumbled, his head bowed. “I pray to the gods they are good enough.”
“I do not expect trouble, Marcus.”
Marcus huffed, a bitter smile on his lips. “Trouble would find you whether you expect it or not. But I…I would have you safe, Drusus. It is you I care for above all others.” A flush blossomed on Marcus’s cheeks, and for the first time, Drusus realised Calpurnius had been correct about Marcus’s feelings for him. He loved Marcus as a friend but no more, and it hurt Drusus’s heart that he may have to break Marcus’s.
“You are a good friend, Marcus.”
“Would that I was more,” Marcus whispered so quietly Drusus hardly heard the words.
“Marcus, I…”
“All is well, Centurion. I know your heart does not rest with me. I have seen by your lingering gazes where your heart lies.”
Was he referring to Caius? Drusus desired Caius, but he didn’t love him—no, not yet. Perhaps one day he might, but his feelings for Caius now were desire and care because he was one of his men.
“Marcus, my heart lies within my own chest. It belongs to no one else.”
Marcus chuckled, looking at Drusus for the first time since he’d arrived at his side. “You do not know yourself, Drusus.” Marcus stood, taking his cup with him. “Safe journey, Centurion. I will pray to the gods you all make it safely to Haltern.”
Drusus didn’t even have time to embrace his friend before he was out of sight and Drusus was alone. Marcus loves me and thinks I am in love with another. For a brief, shameful second, Drusus wondered if Marcus included Caius in the men to travel with Drusus with the hope Caius would not survive should they be attacked. He cast the thought from his mind as swiftly as it had come. Marcus was too honourable for Drusus to have such thoughts about him.
Tomorrow would be a difficult day. The first days away from the safety of a winter camp were always taxing. Drusus would be reacquainted with the constant fear that shadowed every moment away from the Castra Vetera. He never fully got used to this fear—it never went away—but hopefully the best he could do was learn to live with it. He went back to his room and lay on his pallet to try to get some sleep. He would need to be at his best tomorrow. Twenty men were relying on his command, not least of whom was his brother—and Caius.
THE MORNING CAME in a blink of his eye. The sun shone on a cool, clear day. A perfect day for a march across the Rhine. Drusus said a quick prayer to the gods for a safe journey before donning his equipment and leaving his room. It would be many months before he saw the safety of his four walls again.
His men were assembled by the time he left the barracks, and he led them out of the Decuman gate without any fanfare or goodbyes. Such was the life of a soldier.
They should be free from attack until they crossed the Rhine, but he cautioned his men to be alert regardless. They walked in silence, the discipline of the legions kicking in immediately.
Not even two hours after they’d left Vetera, they crossed the Rhine. Drusus was grateful to the engineers who’d long ago built these bridges. Crossing a river loaded down with packs was never easy. They would follow the road parallel to the Lippe River now all the way to Haltern.
An hour later, Drusus called his men to rest and eat. They were in an open area; the trees of the thick forest lining the river were thin here, so they would be able to spot any attackers hoping to sneak up on them.
They sat along the bank of the river and took their meal. Drusus drizzled olive oil over his bread, soaking it as was his preference. His wine was watered down more than he usually had it back at Vetera, but he needed to make it last. His men sat around him with their weapons easily at hand in case of a sudden attack.
Drusus had kept them walking in formation but allowed them to relax as they pleased while they ate. Calpurnius sat beside him and Caius across from them. Drusus struggled to keep his eyes off him. Caius’s skin was pinked from the sun and damp with sweat from his exertions. His eyes were bright, he looked more alive than any man Drusus had ever seen. It was hard not to look at him.
“Will we be there by nightfall, Drusus?” Calpurnius asked around a mouthful of bread.
“With luck.”
The weather was holding. They’d seen no signs of any tribesmen who may become a problem for them, so all in all, their journey was going well. Drusus knew that not far ahead lay the most dangerous part of their trek. The forest came close to touching the banks of the Lippe soon and did so until they reached Haltern. This would inhibit their fighting style as their javelins would be useless amongst the trees. If they were to meet an enemy there, the fighting would be blade-to-blade.
Not far from where they sat, two of his men were at the edge of the river. They were attempting to catch some fish for their meal tonight. It would be good to have something more than bread after they finished their march this evening.
Drusus leaned back on his elbow as he ate. He closed his eyes and enjoy
ed the sun on his skin and the easy-going sounds of his men as they laughed and talked. For the first time since he realised how close he was to retirement, he thought of life after the legions. He would miss being surrounded by people even though he’d always been a loner despite the crowd around him. If Fortuna truly smiled on him, he may one day find someone to share his life with. A man to share his hopes with, to find happiness with. Someone to hold in the long dark hours of night, to laugh with, and find pleasure with. It was a nice daydream but would likely remain nothing more.
At the thought of finding someone special, his eyes opened, and his gaze wandered to Caius. Looking there was a fruitless dream. Drusus would be out of service in less than three years, but Caius had twenty more years to serve as a legionary. Drusus would be an old man by the time Caius was free, so thoughts toward Caius were a dead end.
“Drusus?”
Drusus heard his name called through the fog of his thoughts. He recognised concern in his brother’s voice and idly wondered how many times Calpurnius had called him before Drusus had finally heard.
“Apologies, Cal. What is it?”
“Where was your mind, brother?” Cal smiled. He was such a happy man, so unlike his own often severe countenance.
“My mind was in the future, Cal, in a waking dream.”
Calpurnius flicked his gaze back and forth between Drusus and Caius, and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Drusus had spoken foolishly. Cal was quick of mind. He recognized where Drusus’s thoughts lay.
Calpurnius stood, still with a grin on his face. “I’m going to wander into the bush to piss. Back soon.”
Drusus watched his brother’s retreating back. Weeks had passed since Cal had turned up at Vetera, but even now, Drusus pinched himself every so often in thanks to the gods for bringing his brother back to him.
“Your brother has the subtlety of one of Hannibal’s elephants,” Caius murmured.
Drusus turned his attention back to him. His lovely face was highlighted with a becoming flush on his smooth cheeks and a look Drusus could only describe as coy. Caius truly was a most beautiful man.
“He was always as a bull thundering his way through life, even when he came only to my knees,” Drusus fondly replied.
“He thinks of us…of us together. He demanded I make you happy. I do not think he realises I have no hold over you.”
Drusus had come to know Caius’s strengths over the weeks, but speaking so openly to his centurion proved his courage. “I think he does wish for us to be together,” Drusus replied. “But you know that cannot be. I hope you are not still thinking of us?” Drusus’s mind was in turmoil. Half of him hoped he had put Caius off any thoughts of them together while the other half—the selfish one—desperately wished Caius had not lost interest.
“All the time,” Caius whispered. “I thought of you from Cal’s words alone, before I’d even seen your…beauty. And now after your kiss…” His head was bowed as he spoke and Drusus would have given anything to see into his warm eyes.
“You think I am beautiful?” Drusus kept his voice low. There weren’t many around them, but he didn’t want his men overhearing this particular conversation with Caius.
“I do. You are handsome of face and body, but it is the man you are inside who draws me in.” Caius looked up at him now, his gaze unwavering. “When I was young, my father took me to the games once when he was trying to curry favour in Roma. I watched the gladiators that day: proud, fierce, strong men who were so alive. I watched them tear each other apart. I listened to the crowd roar every time blood was spilled on the sands. But they had animals there, too, exotic ones from Africa: tigers and lions. They were magnificent, graceful predators.”
Caius’s voice was low with remembrance, a slight smile to his lips. “The day we sparred you reminded me of the tigers I saw at the games. So strong and powerful, and in your eyes, I saw the same cunning as you watched me. I felt as though I was your prey and if you caught me you would devour me—and I wanted you to. I was half afraid and half aroused. You are as beautiful and magnificent as those tigers. I would…I would still have you if I could, despite your words the other day.”
“Caius…” No words sprang to Drusus’s tongue to explain how much he wanted him, too, but how anything between them was doomed. Caius was sitting close, and before he realised what he was doing, Drusus had reached out so only the very tips of his fingers were touching the flesh of Caius’s knee.
Drusus cleared his throat and stood. Caius deserved better than being brushed off, but his mind was spinning. All he could think of was getting to Haltern and away from Caius.
“Assemble, men,” he yelled, so the men who had wandered away would hear him and return to the formation.
Caius stood and began readying himself to continue the march without a word or a look at Drusus. The familiar ache in Drusus’s chest throbbed as he considered he may have hurt Caius again—and maybe this time more than could be fixed.
Time passed swiftly and soon they reached the heavily forested area. Drusus kept the men at a fast pace as he was desperate to reach Haltern and find some reprieve from the burn of Caius’s glare on his back.
Only a few paces ahead of him, Drusus noticed some detritus from the forest floor roll from higher up and stumble to a stop. Drusus hadn’t heard anything but the crackle of the shifting debris, but he knew they were suddenly not alone in this forest. His skin prickled, the hair on his nape stood on end.
Drusus stopped, holding up a hand to command his men to likewise come to a stop. Enclosed like this in the densely packed trees was not a legionary’s usual or favourite way to fight the enemy, but the choice had been taken from them.
“Form up,” he ordered. The simple command would be enough for his well-trained men. He was proud of them as each man pulled on their helmets and shucked their extra equipment behind them. They shifted close together and drew their shields swiftly into place, javelins poking through small gaps and ready for battle.
Their enemy remained silent and unmoving. For a second, Drusus thought he may have been wrong, but then a roar came from the higher ground to their right and Drusus finally sighted their foe.
At first glance, it seemed their numbers would be evenly matched—perhaps even a little favoured to the Romans. But this was the Germanic tribesmen’s terrain, and they knew how to fight here. It could be a difficult and close fight, especially as more enemies kept rising over the crest of the hill.
“Steady!” he shouted.
His men held their ground. The calm mask of stoic endurance so singular to battle fell over him. Panic led to death, so Drusus had learned long ago to clear his mind at the first sign of a fight. He was well trained and experienced in what to do. His men likewise knew how to fight. They were Roman Legionaries. They would send these barbarians to the afterlife.
The first of the tribesmen reached them at the point where Drusus and Tiberius to his left stood ready. The clash of the iron blades of their swords slashing against the Roman shields sounded the beginning of the battle—often the sounds of battle Drusus remembered so well afterward.
Their testudo formation held as they deftly blocked their enemies’ strokes with shields and shoved as hard as they could with their javelins through the breaches. Drusus heard, with relief, the screams of their tormented opponents as they fell. The Germanic weapons and armoury were inferior; they looked more like farmers than warriors. Despite the Roman superiority, though, at some point their formation would break apart, but by then they should have reduced their foes’ numbers to a manageable amount.
“Hold,” he roared as the Germanic men struck again.
For some time, they repelled the enemy, piercing them with their javelins to cause injury significant enough they either retreated or died on the spot. The fallen were soon replaced by others. They may not be warriors, but these Germanic men were courageous and tenacious.
From his left, Drusus heard a scream coming from within the shell of their format
ion. The men around him stumbled, pulling them all out of formation. One of his legionaries had been wounded, most likely a cut to his exposed legs causing him to tumble.
“Draw your gladius!” he roared. His men broke apart and prepared for hand-to-hand combat. “Kill them all!”
Drusus lunged at the closest tribesman, pushing at his body with his shield to unbalance the man. His opponent backed up with the movement and quickly lunged forward at his earliest chance. Drusus parried the man’s long sword away and dropped into a fighting stance. The shortness of his gladius allowed Drusus to step into the man’s next lunge and thrust at will into his chest. It would be a quick death.
Drusus turned to find his next fight. All around him, men lunged and dodged and bled. Grunts turned to screams as a sword blade found home. The stench of blood was overpowering, but Drusus was used to it by now. He sought out Calpurnius in the chaos and tried not to think of Caius. He found Cal easily, thanks to his height. Drusus’s heart thudded in his chest as he watched Cal dodge a glancing blow, the German’s sword leaving a thin red trail as it scored the tender skin of Cal’s forearm.
Drusus strode toward his brother, but his way was blocked by another tribesman. This man was quicker than his brethren had been but not at all accurate. His strokes went wide and high. Drusus blocked each one with his shield but the man danced away so quickly Drusus couldn’t strike him with his shield. He’d lost sight of Calpurnius, but he had his own fight to win. Drusus watched his opponent as he continued to strike. The man was desperately searching for a weakness in Drusus’s defences. There wasn’t one for him to find.
Tired of this encounter and wanting to check on his brother, Drusus struck low. A solid jab to the German’s thigh immediately had him doubled over. Drusus wasted no time sending the man to the afterlife with a stab to his throat.
As Drusus turned to take in the battle, he clearly saw his men were winning by the number of lifeless tribesmen on the ground. One of his men lay unmoving on the ground, but with his head turned away Drusus could not tell his identity. A few of his men were bleeding but still moving well, so Drusus knew they weren’t badly hurt.