by Karrie Roman
A short distance away, both Calpurnius and Caius fought their opponents. The man who was repeatedly lunging at Caius was a giant. He must be taller even than Drusus, and that was a rare thing. Caius looked almost a child beside him. Drusus heard him grunting with the effort of constantly deflecting the huge man’s blows. Fortunately, Caius was a fit, young man, so his stamina would help him hold off his attacker until help arrived.
Beside him, fighting a much more average-sized man was Calpurnius. Drusus saw his brother glance at his friend frequently, and he knew he’d be doing his best to rid himself of his foe, so he could go to Caius’s aid.
Drusus strode toward them. Caius was visibly weakening under the sustained attack of the giant, his arms shaking, his grunts louder, so Drusus quickened his pace. Even if he wasn’t drawn to Caius, he was the man who needed his help the most in this battle. By what ill fate had he drawn the giant?
He was close now, and he watched in admiration as Caius hefted his shield and pushed fiercely at the giant, hoping to unsettle him enough for him to lose his footing. It was a good move and would have felled a smaller man, but the giant used Caius’s shield against him instead. Caius was the one who fell to his back and was left vulnerable to his opponent’s blows.
Drusus ran, his heart in his throat. Caius would not last long on his back. The giant tribesman struck, his sword slicing too close to Caius, who somehow managed to alter the trajectory of the blow with his gladius so the enemy’s sword cut into his thigh rather than a deadlier strike to his throat or stomach. Caius screamed.
Drusus reached them just as the German raised his sword once more. Drusus used the momentum of his run to slam into the man’s waist, taking them both to the ground. The giant’s sword was too long for such close contact. It would be awkward and difficult for him to use it effectively against Drusus now they were on the ground. In contrast, Drusus’s shorter gladius was ideal. He worked his arm clear from the tangle of bodies and quickly lined up the exposed skin of the German’s throat.
Drusus never looked away from the man’s startled eyes as he plunged the tip of his gladius into the yielding flesh. The giant’s face was forever frozen in a look of terror as the life drained from him.
“Caius,” Calpurnius called from somewhere behind him, “Caius, please.”
He turned to see his brother, having dispatched his adversary, hunched over the prone body of Caius. As Drusus approached he noticed Calpurnius struggling to remove Caius’s helmet. He crouched on the other side of Caius and helped Cal with his task. When they had the helmet off, Caius’s eyes were closed, and his face was pale. His chest yet rose and fell so Drusus hadn’t lost him yet.
“Start a fire,” Drusus instructed, uncaring of who followed his orders so long as somebody lit a fire. He suspected the wound on Caius’s thigh would need to be fused with a heated blade with the absence of a medicus to stitch it.
Drusus lifted Caius’s tunic to see his wound clearly for the first time. The cut was a little longer than the length of his hand but it appeared deep. Blood was flowing freely from the wound, so Drusus put his hands to Caius’s thigh and pressed. He’d had his share of gashes over the years and he’d watched the medicus tend to both his and other men’s wounds. He understood pressure slowed the flow of blood.
Soft groans fell from Caius’s parted lips, and his eyelids fluttered. Caius was waking, much to Drusus’s distress. It would be so much easier to put the scorching blade to Caius’s flesh if he was away in his dreams.
“Cal,” he called to his brother, “get a stick for him to bite on.”
Calpurnius was almost as pale as his injured friend. This was definitely Calpurnius’s first battle wound, possibly the first serious injury he’d ever witnessed. Drusus remembered how provoking it could be, but he had no time to soothe his brother. Cal scampered away in search of a stick.
Beneath him, Caius was beginning to move as sense returned. He would need to be calm so his movements did not tear his wound more.
“Caius,” he murmured. “Lie still. Everything is well, but you must lie still.”
Huge, fear-filled brown eyes stared up at him. Soft lips that had pressed so deliciously to his only days ago now trembled with pain and fear. Drusus struggled not to lean down to kiss the fear away. Instead, he continued to shush him and try to keep him still.
Calpurnius returned to Caius’s side holding a stick in one hand, with his other hand he gently sifted his fingers through Caius’s hair. Drusus would give anything to be able to comfort him so but his own hands were busy literally holding Caius together. Suddenly trembling fingers grasped at his hand and looked down to see one of Caius’s hands latching desperately to his wrist. The sight almost caused tears to fall.
“Centurion,” one of his men finally called as he approached with the red-hot gladius. From the sounds around him, his men had gotten on with what needed to be done now the fight was over. Any injuries would be taken care of, spoils from the defeated would be seized and the bodies set to a pile.
The approaching legionary first handed him a flask of water which Drusus poured over the wound, clearing the blood to see where he needed to work.
“Cal, the stick,” he ordered and waited until Cal had coaxed Caius into biting down on the stick. Caius lay beneath him, pale and sweaty, his eyes filled with fear. Drusus looked at him, willing any strength he possessed to pass into the injured man. “Bite down, legionary,” he ordered and then pressed the blade to Caius’s wounded thigh.
Caius briefly screamed around the stick in his mouth before darkness once again took him. Now that the man had passed out, Drusus concentrated on the wound. The heated section of the blade wasn’t quite long enough to close the entire length of the wound. So, he lifted the gladius and pressed it onto the last open segment. The stench of burning flesh roiled his guts and Drusus fought to keep the contents down.
When his job was done, he sat back on his arse and finally took a breath. He did not think he’d taken one since he’d seen the giant’s blade slice into Caius’s thigh.
“Will he live, Dru?”
“I think it very likely, Cal.” Drusus was exhausted, more exhausted than he’d been after much harder and longer battles. He wondered if the worry for his brother—and Caius—during this fight caused his body to tire faster.
“He pushed me away, Dru. That giant was heading for me, and he pushed me away and got between us.” Calpurnius’s wide blue eyes looked to him, the shock of his first real battle etched into them.
Drusus clapped his brother on the arm, having no words of solace to offer him. War was what it was, just as life was. There was no reason to what befell them and certainly no words to ease Cal right then as he dealt with the reality of his life.
“Tacitus, report.” Drusus ordered.
Tacitus, a legionary close to his age and experience, stepped forward and dutifully gave his report of the battles aftermath. “Three other men injured, Centurion. Their wounds are light, and all can travel easily. One took a blow to the head, but he has awakened and seems well. All the enemy lie dead at our feet.” At this a cheer from his men went up, but Drusus did not feel like cheering.
“We need a litter.” His men would have a litter built to carry Caius as swiftly as possible. Drusus did not want to loiter here. He could not be sure more tribesmen weren’t already lying in wait in the forest or on their way. He wanted—needed—to get everyone to Haltern urgently.
Chapter Six
FIVE DAYS AGO, Drusus had led his ragtag group of twenty exhausted men into the Roman base at Haltern. Caius and the other wounded were immediately taken to the hospital so the medicus could tend to their wounds while Drusus reported to the Prefect before falling into bed after he’d had a quick report on the state of his wounded.
Since then, Drusus was kept busy with war councils and meetings with the Prefect, who was new to his role and was delighted Drusus had turned up. He’d been picking at Drusus’s brain for information on everything from how to m
anage Varus to what supplies were still required. Drusus wondered why the man hadn’t made use of the centurions and senior officers of the Nineteenth Legion who were posted here. Not that he minded because the prefect’s demands kept his thoughts away from Caius.
He hadn’t seen much of Calpurnius or Caius, though he had been kept up to date with Caius’s condition. Drusus wondered if he really was so busy he was unable to see Caius or if he was afraid to. He had the strangest feeling that if he was to see Caius so soon after almost losing him, he’d grab him, pull him to his chest, and never let him go.
The Seventeenth and Eighteenth Legions would arrive in two days, and then the summer campaign would begin in earnest.
“Dru,” Calpurnius called to him from across the forum.
He watched as his brother ran to his side, a smile on his face for the first time since they’d encountered angry tribesmen on the banks of the Lippe. Drusus hoped it signalled Caius’s improving health.
“Cal, what causes you such excitement?”
“Caius is up and walking. His wound heals well and the medicus believes he will be able to campaign with us.”
Drusus tried to find the same joy from his brother’s words but failed. While he was extremely pleased Caius was recovering well, he also had hoped the man might be left behind—in the safety of Haltern.
“Is that not good news, brother?” Cal asked, perplexed by Drusus’s lack of enthusiasm.
“Of course, Cal, but I do not wish him hurried back into battle before he is fully healed.”
Calpurnius smirked at him, and Drusus knew he’d seen through him yet again. “Is it for care of him that you wish him not fully healed?”
“What?” Drusus tried to act the innocent but despite their years apart his brother could read him well.
“Is it that you wish he was not well enough to march out with us? You would rather see him safe here.” Cal watched him, but when he made no answer he continued, “You must know, Dru, how pleased I would be if you were to find happiness with Caius.”
Drusus shook his head and laughed. “You are so young, Cal. Your head is in the clouds.” Drusus clapped his hands on Calpurnius’s shoulders and gave him a little shake. “To what end would a relationship with Caius be? Think, brother. I leave in less than three summers and Caius stays another twenty. Better to leave my heart untouched than risk its breaking.”
Calpurnius looked at him with a seriousness he rarely saw in his light-hearted brother. “You could rejoin, stay longer in the legions—with him.”
“I am tired, Cal. I have been fighting for almost your entire lifetime. I want peace.”
Calpurnius nodded, understanding and resignation on his handsome features. “Three years of happiness is better than a lifetime of none, Dru.” Cal smiled sadly and walked away, leaving Drusus speechless in his wake.
Drusus’s wandered aimlessly, Cal’s words tumbling around in his head. Perhaps his brother was right. What would it be like to find such happiness and pleasure in another’s arms? Wouldn’t it be better to find out before he left this life rather than go to the afterlife never knowing love with another?
He’d meandered his way to the doors of the small hospital barrack without even realising it. He stood uncertainly at the door, unsure of his next move. His legs twitched but whether to step forward—toward Caius—or to run the opposite way he was unsure. If he stepped inside, his life could change forever, but if he walked away, his life would be as it had been for the almost forty years he’d been alive.
Drusus stepped inside. The smell of salves and balms mixed in the air drowning out any other scent. Drusus had been in hospitals before after serious battle where the only scents were blood, decaying flesh, and death. At those times, hospitals were not a place for one who possessed a weak stomach.
He found Caius lying on his bunk; his eyes were closed, and his hand was gently petting a ginger cat. The large, furry cat was curled on Caius’s stomach, purring contentedly as Caius ran his fingers through its hair. He looked as contented as the cat.
He walked closer to his pallet, standing nervously over Caius, unsure what to do now that he was here. He can’t have been as silent as he thought, because Caius’s lids slowly opened; his lovely brown eyes stared up at Drusus.
“Drusus?” he murmured.
The cat stretched and shifted on Caius’s stomach but didn’t seem eager to go too far from him.
“How do you feel, Caius?” Drusus asked.
“I am well. The medicus says I should be able to march out when the time comes.” Caius looked so pleased by this. Drusus wanted to scream at him not to be so keen to find another battle.
“Are you certain, Caius? Perhaps—”
“I am well. I will be able to march.” His body tensed, and he winced a little. “I would not be left behind.”
Drusus sighed, knowing he was fighting a battle he would not win. Caius was an honourable man who knew his duty to Roma, and he was of the type to ensure he fulfilled it. Drusus could easier stop the rain from falling than stop Caius from going on the campaigns with them.
He kneeled to be closer to Caius so he’d be able to speak quietly to him. “You will not be left behind, Caius, as much as I would wish it.”
“I have failed you, Centurion. Apologies.”
“No, Caius. You misunderstand. I would have you stay here, because I would see you safe, not because I think you a poor soldier. You fought a giant—one who was after my brother—and lived. You are brave, Caius, but I would ask you not to risk yourself for another again.”
Caius sat up, carefully spinning his legs over the side of the pallet. The cat hissed at its sudden upheaval, but a few pets from Caius appeased the creature.
“You would see me safe?”
Drusus turned away from Caius, frightened by how the man made him feel. He was terrified to look too closely into his eyes, afraid he may be lost in them forever. He couldn’t do this. Calpurnius was wrong. How could it be better to find happiness and lose it than never have it at all? In a few years, he would have to leave Caius behind to an unknown fate. How could he survive the pain if he let him even further into his heart than he already was? He was not strong enough to bear that.
“I would see all my men safe.” He watched as Caius’s body flinched from his words. Drusus stood again needing to get away. “I will come again tomorrow and speak with the medicus.” He looked everywhere but into Caius’s eyes.
“Gratitude, Centurion,” Caius mumbled before lying back, the cat in his lap forgotten. Caius turned on his side, away from Drusus, giving him his back.
“Goodnight, Caius.”
Drusus received no answer. He fled the hospital and sought the refuge of his own room. He must put thoughts of Caius from his mind.
THE NEXT MORNING Drusus took a stroll to clear his head before training began. He hadn’t slept much last night, his encounter with Caius stealing sleep from him as he replayed their words over and over.
“Centurion.”
Drusus turned to the voice calling out. He certainly wasn’t the only centurion in Haltern, but he thought he was the only one in hearing distance of this man rapidly approaching him.
Antonius, one of the Nineteenth Legion’s optios, was walking toward him. Drusus stopped and turned to wait for the man. He’d met Antonius on prior campaigns but would not call him a close friend.
“Word has come from Vetera. Varus and the legions have been delayed and will not be leaving Vetera for another week.” Antonius relayed the message calmly, but there was curiosity behind his eyes. Drusus himself was unsure how to take the news. What could have delayed Varus? He hoped there was no great trouble delaying the other two legions.
Drusus considered the delay in light of Caius. On one hand, it gave Caius an extra week to recover, so he should be fully healed by the time they marched out on summer campaign. On the other hand, there was little chance the medicus would declare him unfit, given the extra week of rest. Drusus was rarely so confused ab
out the state of one of his men. They were there to fight for the glory of Roma. All else was—or should be—of little matter.
For himself, Drusus was anxious to begin the march. The winter months at Vetera could become monotonous for a soldier accustomed to action after so many years in the legions. Despite there being much to do with legionaries expected to train daily to maintain both discipline and fitness, winter months often bogged down into days of idle boredom. Whatever he asked of his men, Drusus was always sure to undertake himself, so he was often found training with them. He frequently observed he was in better condition than men half his age who were new to the legions.
“Gratitude, Antonius. Is there word of what delays Varus?”
“No, Centurion. The Prefect remains unconcerned. I think he is quite pleased to delay the march,” Antonius answered with the hint of a smile. Often men who rose to high ranks, such as Prefect, did so thanks to their wealth and family. Riches and a well-regarded family name were a currency in Roma. Men such as that sometimes had little military experience and tended toward idleness and cowardice. Drusus had seen many high-ranking men order their soldiers into battle while they sat idly by refusing to enter the fight themselves.
“Hopefully, the delay will not be long.” Drusus ignored Antonius’s subtle dig at the Prefect. If he’d misinterpreted Antonius and made an unfortunate comment denouncing the Prefect, he’d easily find himself with his head on a spike.
“Itching for battle, Drusus?”
“I am itching to get out from behind the walls, Antonius.” He smirked at the optio. “A battle here and there does not hurt either.” Drusus didn’t love fighting and was always horrified by the barbarity men unleashed upon each other. But he was a Roman Centurion, and a love of battle was expected.
“I hear you had a brawl on your way here. Did that not satisfy you?”
Drusus tried not to think of Caius or the fear that had torn through Drusus when he’d had to watch both his brother and Caius in the battle. “It was a small skirmish but invigorating.” Drusus left it at that, unwilling to think too much about what had happened on the banks of the Lippe. The image of Caius vulnerable on his back as a sword plunged into his thigh, his agonizing scream, and the fear in his eyes once Drusus had reached him would forever haunt Drusus’s nightmares.