by Karrie Roman
“I shall leave you to your thoughts, Centurion.” Antonius turned to walk back the way he had come.
Drusus went in search of his brother. He had another week with Calpurnius that would be the calm before the storms of campaigning came. With only a small handful of his century here with him, Drusus’s workload was much reduced. He decided he would take advantage of the time available by spending much of it with Cal.
Calpurnius was working at a wooden post when Drusus found him. He watched his brother for a time as he stabbed at the post with a training gladius. Cal had fine form. He was strong and accurate. He had been trained well, and Drusus was thankful for that.
As he continued watching, a sensation of sadness settled within him. His melancholy was for his brother—and all the other young men newly starting out in military life. They had such a long way to go with great hardships before them. Pain, loss, terror, the shame of defeat—all were before them.
“Dru?” Calpurnius called, breaking Drusus away from his morbid thoughts.
“Your form is good, Cal.”
“Gratitude, brother. The long hours of work on the farm have given me strength and stamina. Unlike some of these city men who tire merely from lifting their sword.” Cal smirked as he said this and flicked a quick glance at a legionary not far from him who was engaged in similar training. Drusus suspected that this man was from the city, for he turned and made a rude gesture to Cal, though with a smile, before turning back to his tasks. Calpurnius was fortunate he had such a pleasant manner; otherwise teasing other soldiers in this way could easily lead to trouble.
“You saw Caius yesterday?”
Even though Cal had asked the question, Drusus suspected he already knew the answer. “I did. He does well.”
“He is the best of men, Dru. I do not understand why you stay away from him.”
Drusus sent his brother a withering look. Would he hear nothing but Calpurnius’s desire for him and Caius to be together for the next three years? Did his brother know of the kiss that had already happened between him and Caius?
“Yes, he told me, brother. He told me of the kiss…and your words after. I never thought you a fool, Drusus.” Calpurnius had moved closer, so they would not be overheard. Drusus wished he could run from his brother as he had from Caius, but his brother would only give chase.
“I told you I was a coward with my heart, Cal.” He tried to joke, but from the expression on Cal’s face he was not going to allow it.
“He cares for you, Dru. I have known him many months, and I have never seen him with another. He would not even go to the brothels; it is not his way. It is not only your body he wants.”
“Do you not see what you say makes it worse? If it were only our bodies, only lust, that would be hard enough. But, if we allow ourselves these feelings, how much worse the pain when I must leave? Or if one of us is killed in battle?” Simply speaking the words sent a dagger to his heart.
“You do care, then?” Calpurnius pressed.
“I cannot care, Cal.” Drusus turned his angry gaze on his brother. Cal’s eyes squinted, his lips pulled tight with anger, but he wondered if Cal could possibly be as annoyed with him as he was at himself. He should never have allowed things to come to this. He’d lost command of himself and bore deep shame for the results of his failure. “We are delayed here another week. Caius will be well healed by then. I would ask you to see to his training over this next week to get him back into shape. I expect he will be fit to march, but do not… Do not push him too hard, Cal.”
Calpurnius stared at him for a short moment before shaking his head. For the first time since they’d been reunited, Drusus thought he saw disappointment with him in Cal’s face.
“I will care for Caius. He will be ready to march, and he will not be hurt again while I am around.”
Drusus understood Cal’s double meaning. Drusus had hurt his friend, and Cal was making it clear to him that he would not allow it again. Drusus was both pleased Caius had Cal to lean on and jealous Caius had Cal to lean on. Feelings were not something Drusus was used to or understood, he had closed himself off from them many years ago. All he hoped for was to survive the years to come being tossed around by his emotions.
Chapter Seven
THE WATERS OF the Lippe were cool against the heat of Drusus’s well-exercised body. He’d joined some men set the task of digging part of a new road this morning, and his muscles, though used to hard labours, were feeling the workout he’d given them. As a centurion, Drusus understood no road was required, but tasks were often devised for the legionaries to stave off boredom and keep minds off the upcoming campaign. Soldiers of the legion were exceptionally well trained but bored men led to trouble and neglecting training for any great length of time could mean disaster on the battle field.
Drusus sat beneath the shade of a large tree in the shallow waters of the gently flowing river leaning against the grass bank. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the way the water eased the tension in his muscles. If only it were quiet and he were alone. Instead, the river was playground to many men. Some sat back and relaxed as he did while others horsed around with each other, their playful shouts shattering the silence Drusus so longed for.
He did his best to shut out the noise of the men around him and let his mind wander to something—someone—far more pleasurable to think of. He hadn’t been to see Caius since the disaster at the hospital three days ago, but he’d ensured he was kept up to date on his progress. Caius had been released from the hospital yesterday and was back in a bunk room with Cal and some of Drusus’s other men. Cal also had him engaged in light training to build up his strength.
The sound of laughter and splashing soon opened Drusus’s eyes, but they were rapidly filled as water was scooped all over him. Drusus spluttered and shook to escape the water, but soon realised he had more than one assailant. Using his height to advantage, Drusus stood, making it difficult for his attackers to reach his face. Drusus wiped at his eyes before looking around into the laughing faces of Calpurnius and Caius.
As fast as possible, he bent and scooped two armfuls of water, then splashing both men. Drusus briefly considered he was a man of almost forty years and was now playing like a child, but he was unable—and unwilling—to stop himself. He’d had almost twenty years of death and blood and war, so he deserved some youthful joy, surely.
More men quickly joined them until the once calm waters of the Lippe churned and splashed as a group of grown men played like little ones. When he had the chance, Drusus looked around him and saw men he didn’t think he’d ever seen smile before, now laughing joyfully. He looked for Cal and Caius and found them not far away splashing and chuckling, even Cal dramatically falling under the water.
It was a foolish hope that life would always be this way, but Drusus wished for it anyway.
Drusus eventually made his way out of the river, leaving the younger men to continue their games. He sat quietly on the bank, allowing the sun to dry him, his gaze roaming over the men frolicking in the water. With the training and fitness expected of legionaries, there were more than a few men who had perfectly sculptured, masculine bodies to draw Drusus’s eye, but none more so than Caius.
He spent a good deal of time wondering why that was. Caius’s body was flawless, but in this he was not alone, even the laziest legionary was muscular and well formed. Caius’s face was fine featured, perhaps even delicate, yet with an underlying strength. There was a vulnerability to Caius—not weakness or lack of strength, but something indefinable that urged Drusus to protect him. He suspected Caius would bristle at the suggestion he needed protecting, but Drusus felt it all the same.
“Centurion, I would speak with you.”
Drusus turned to the vaguely familiar voice. He watched, puzzled, as Segestes of the Cherusci approached him. The Cherusci tribe leader was looking furtively about him as though concerned he would be spotted speaking with Drusus. They were well hidden from the eyes of Haltern base here so the only one
s who might see them were the men in the river, and they were surely too busy with their games to take any note.
“Yes, Lord Segestes. How may I be of service?” Drusus considered standing for the tribe leader but then recalled his state of dress and thought it best to remain seated. Segestes dropped to the grass beside him, too close to him for Drusus’s liking.
“You are the centurion who cautioned Varus about the uprising in the war council at Vetera?”
“I am.”
Segestes sagged, perhaps with relief. “I ask that you listen to me now, Centurion. What I tell you I have already shared with Varus, but he has chosen to ignore my words.”
Segestes stopped and leaned in closer to Drusus. Passers-by may think them intimate the man was so close.
“My years of loyalty to Roma mean little to your governor, but perhaps a soldier who understands the importance of loyalty—and one who is willing to question—will listen to me.”
“What is it, my lord?” Drusus prompted when Segestes was again silent. Drusus wanted the conversation ended. He already did not like where Segestes was leading him.
“I feel sure Arminius of the Cherusci sets a trap for Varus and his legions. I have spies trying to get knowledge of his plot, but I suspect he is approaching all the tribes asking for their support to rid Germania of the Roman invaders—his words about Romans, not mine.” Segestes nervously clarified. Drusus knew this man to be a supporter of an alliance with Roma. “He will ask them to join him as one force to wipe out the legions. Centurion, reports of an uprising will be used as a ruse to lead Varus off Roman roads and into Arminius’s trap.”
“And you have told Varus of this?” Drusus asked. His stomach churned at Segestes’s words for they had the taste of truth.
“I have, but as I said, he chooses not to listen in spite of our years of friendship and my loyalty to Roma over the years.”
“Fool,” Drusus spat. He quickly remembered himself. Regardless of what he thought of Varus, he was a Roman, and Drusus should not speak of him so in front of a man who was not.
“I have ridden ahead of him to come here and speak with you with the hope of preventing disaster.”
“I am afraid, my lord, it is unlikely any words I have to say will change Varus’s mind. I am merely a centurion. While many of our generals look to their centurions for advice and wisdom in battle, Varus does not.” Drusus’s mind was firing as he desperately sought an answer to how he might sway Varus, but in his heart, he knew there was little chance. Varus was proud and conceited; he did not value another’s opinion and would never admit his own errors.
“Is there another who might hold power over Varus to turn his mind from his current course?”
Drusus shook his head. No one could change Varus’s mind; he was too arrogant for that, but he’d at least warn the prefects of the legions. If they believed him, even a little, then maybe they could be ready for any trouble Arminius might bring to them. “I will speak to the prefects. At least if we are alert, the damage may not be so bad.”
“Gratitude, Centurion.” Segestes made to rise but then suddenly stilled. “And I will do my best to uncover Arminius’s plan. I would also ask one more thing of you.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“If the trap is sprung and you survive it…I would have you tell Emperor Augustus of my warnings. I would not be at war with Roma if I can help it.”
Drusus wanted to laugh at the old man. If a trap was sprung and the legions were wiped out as Arminius hoped, it would be likely that Drusus would die with his men. But if he did not, there would be other things to occupy his mind. He prayed to the gods Segestes was wrong about Arminius.
“I will do what I can.” Drusus murmured, his thoughts already turning towards his next step.
Segestes nodded and then stood. He walked away from Drusus without a farewell or backwards glance. Drusus was shaking with a combination of anger and fear. He stood and gathered his clothes. He wished Marcus were here to speak with. He not only trusted his optio, but Marcus was a wise man in the ways of politics. He would know how best to proceed with the information Drusus now possessed.
Varus and the other legions would be here tomorrow. Could Drusus wait until then to share his knowledge of Arminius’s plan? Segestes thought it to be true, and Drusus had believed Segestes but, with no proof, would others? Drusus had been fighting for many years with many close calls that could have dragged him to the underworld, but he’d never before felt quite so helpless.
All Drusus knew with any certainty was, whether or not his superiors believed him, he would take whatever action was necessary to keep his men safe.
AFTER A FITFUL night’s sleep filled with worry, Drusus had his men up at fighting practice with the first light. Marcus would have continued battle drills with the remainder of his century while they’d been separated, but most of the training that his men had been doing with the Nineteenth since arriving at Haltern was road building and construction work. Drusus needed them to be well drilled at fighting, given what he suspected they’d be marching into at Varus’s command.
He strolled amongst his small band of men, closely watching their every move for correction or praise. They were fine fighters, but Drusus needed them to be perfect.
“Strike higher and faster, Avinius. A blow beneath the groin will be agonising but usually brings a slow death. We must dispatch our enemy swiftly and then move on to the next.”
“Keep your scutum up, Felix. Remember it is not just a shield but also a weapon.”
Drusus clearly heard the grumbling of his men as he continued to shout instructions at them and had them training long into the morning hours. Fear for them kept him the hard taskmaster. He had decided during the night that, once his entire century was reunited, he would share with them Segestes’s words. They should know their fate and prepare for it.
“Drusus, may we take res—”
“I am your centurion, Calpurnius, and no, we may not yet rest. Your form is sloppy and inconsistent,” he barked at his brother, his hand even curling around his vine stick, despite him thinking he’d never use it against Cal. His men would question his mood today, but he didn’t care for their approval—only for their lives.
Calpurnius turned back to the legionary he battled against. In truth, there was little wrong with his form, but fear kept Drusus’s attention focused on his brother, looking for the slightest error. “Arm up, legionary,” he roared in Cal’s ear. “A woman might best you the way you hold your gladius.” He kept at his brother, aware all the time of the growing anger in him.
Sometime later, he allowed the men a break, and unsurprisingly, Cal sought him out.
“May I have a word, brother?”
“I will be addressed as Centurion, legionary.”
“Very well, Centurion.” Cal glanced at him. His brother’s usual good humour was absent.
“Is there a problem?”
“There is. I asked you not to treat me differently to the other men—”
“And I do not. I am not easy on you.” Drusus bit out.
“No, you are not, as I asked. I would not have you go easy on me, brother, but I would also ask you do not treat me harsher. That was unwarranted today—”
“I am your Centurion, Cal. I will decide what is or is not warranted. Your moves were weak, and your aim was poor. I will not see you dead because I did not wish to discipline my brother.”
Drusus felt the questioning weight of Cal’s gaze upon him. His brother’s anger seemed to have drained away, replaced by concern.
“What is wrong, Dru?”
Drusus shook his head as he searched for the words. For too many years he’d been a stoic soldier of Roma, but now, with the arrival of his brother—and Caius—his emotions had escaped the cage he’d long ago locked them in, free to wreak havoc on his soul.
“I am worried, Cal. Something is coming for us—for Varus’s legions, and when it gets here, it will be bad. I will not lose you or any of the men.�
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“Have you had a dream, brother? An ill omen?”
“No. I have been given knowledge of a plot—one Varus refuses to believe. That is why I drill the men so. That is why I was so harsh on you, Cal, and why I have you drill Caius in spite of his wounds. It is for care of you both…for you all.”
Drusus was relieved when Calpurnius replied with nothing more than a smile and a clap to his shoulder before returning to his drills. Cal’s efforts had not been lacking previously, but he doubled them when he resumed training.
Until well past the noon sun, he drilled his men in combat. Hand-to-hand as well as practicing the testudo formation, though with so few men it was difficult to get the right coverage with their shields to protect the group from frontal, side, and overhead projectile attacks. The aptly nicknamed turtle formation always reminded Drusus of the Roman Army itself—fighting as one to conquer many. He hoped they would remain at Haltern a few days once Varus arrived, so he’d be able to drill his entire century before they marched.
When Drusus finally called rest for a midday meal, his men were exhausted and decidedly displeased with him. For the first time in a long while, Drusus was left alone to eat his meal, his men either unwilling or too afraid to sit with him.
As he ate, he considered the afternoon’s activities. If he pushed his men as hard again, he may very well be in danger of a poorly aimed stroke of a wooden practice sword from one of his haggard men. Even Drusus, who hadn’t worked as hard as the men, was fatigued, but fear was driving him to push his men harder. He would not live with the guilt of his men dying because he had failed to adequately train them.
“Drusus,” Caius’s soft voice murmured.