by Karrie Roman
They were having more success against their enemy today, but they were still losing. More legionaries fell around them even as the tribesmen, too, suffered heavy losses. Finally, there was a break in the fighting, and Drusus knew they must use this time to close the gaps in their line made from the fallen men. Night had fallen away fully into day, but there was still no sun. The sky appeared as dreary and grey as Drusus’s mood. He would give anything for a moment’s rest.
From the left, another band of barbarians approached, and Drusus wearily lifted his weapon—and fought. He was hardly conscious of making decisions; instead, his body moved without his thought. Perhaps the gods were commanding him. He dispatched his foe, eager for another to attack so this battle would end, but his heart sank, his blood turning to ice when he heard a scream beside him. It was the cry of the badly wounded—and it was Caius.
“Cai,” he cried and fell to his knees beside Caius. Calpurnius was taking care of the man Caius had been fighting. Marcus and some other men drew closer to provide cover while Drusus attended to his fallen lover.
“Cai, oh gods,” he gasped when he looked Cai over. There was a slash that ran the length of his right upper arm that fortunately didn’t look too deep, but when Drusus’s gaze reached Caius’s hand he tasted bile flooding his mouth. Three of his fingers were gone, his thumb and last finger were badly mutilated.
Caius’s face was deathly white, almost the colour of the snow peaks he remembered from home. He’d seen snow here in Germania, but right now everything about this country seemed black to him. There was nothing of beauty in this accursed land.
Drusus looked frantically around him before his gaze settled on a slain soldier nearby. He cut through the dead man’s tunic with his gladius and hastily wrapped the material as tightly as he was able around Caius’s ruined hand and arm.
“Get him out of here, Drusus,” Marcus called to him. Drusus’s gaze flicked to Calpurnius, who was still fighting. How could he leave his brother? “I’ll make sure Cal gets out. Go,” Marcus roared before turning back to the fight.
Drusus helped Caius back to his feet. His body was sheened with sweat and shaking badly. Drusus doubted he’d be able to stand on his own.
He glanced at Calpurnius, his heart shattering to pieces at leaving him.
“Go, Dru. I will be right on your heels,” Cal called.
“Cal…”
“I love you too, brother.” It was the best goodbye they could hope for.
With one last look at his brother and Marcus, Drusus turned and led Caius away. If it were possible, he would have torn himself in half, leaving one part to stay and fight with his brother and the other to get his lover to safety.
Drusus was dragging Caius by the time they reached Varus’s position. The fighting was fierce, but it was easy to see the battle was lost. He’d already witnessed Claudius fall on his sword rather than be captured by the surrounding barbarians. The prefect had certainly chosen a better death than what the tribesmen had planned for them if they were captured, particularly the officers, but a noble man such as Claudius deserved better than to die because of a fool.
He propped Caius on the ground behind a cart nestled near the tree line. The barbarians had not broken the Roman’s line yet, so they should be safe here for a short time. Then he stood to take in the scene around him. As far down the column as he was able to see, fierce fighting raged. He didn’t know the Germanic numbers, but they had wiped out so many of the legions with the first volley of spears yesterday, so it was possible they were evenly matched. Towards the back of the line he knew the civilians were lined up, slaves, women, children. Drusus ached for any little ones caught up in disaster. He only hoped they’d had time to flee, even if it was against Varus’s orders, but he doubted it. He knew the Romans showed little mercy to the young ones of others, so he expected much the same treatment for their own.
Varus was surrounded by his guard but they were dwindling in numbers even as he watched. Drusus’s conscience pricked at him that he should go to the aid of his commander, but he would not leave Caius alone here to go and die in defence of a fool. Varus had brought this upon them all, and despite years of training, Drusus would not go to him now and offer his aid—especially not when it meant abandoning his lover.
From his right, Drusus watched a vast number of tribesmen racing to where Varus, his officers, and the remains of his guard stood. The enemy would understand that once Varus was gone, true panic and chaos would follow—the end would not be much longer now. Arminius had instructed them well.
Drusus watched in horror as Varus took his sword and handed it to his slave, who then held the blade so the tip pointed slightly up, towards Varus’s sternum. Then Varus enthusiastically hugged the man, the metal of his sword piercing through his stomach. With luck, it would penetrate the man’s heart and quickly ease him to the afterlife, though such a death was better than Varus deserved. His officers swiftly followed the lead of their general. Order was gone, the eagles were gone, the legions were gone. Now, it was a fight to survive and escape. Drusus would not be taken alive, nor would he allow that miserable fate to befall Caius. He ripped his helmet from his head and tossed it away. At least now he was not instantly recognisable as a centurion.
“Cai,” he whispered as he knelt beside his injured lover.
Caius slowly opened his eyes; the brown in them appeared far darker now against his pale, almost translucent skin. His breaths were shallow and irregular. Oh, gods he must not lose this man.
“Drusus.” His name falling from those beloved lips was ragged, merely a puff of air.
“Strength, beloved. Be strong just a little longer,” he murmured, his mind racing with plans for escape.
“I love you so, Dru. It was worth it. You were worth it.” Caius’s voice was weak and so soft as to be hardly heard. This would not be the end. Drusus simply would not allow it, and he’d fight the gods themselves if needed to save Caius.
They must get as far from here as possible, but Caius was weak and slow. The enemy would catch them easily. As determined as he was that Caius would not be captured, the thought of plunging a sword into Caius’s chest and ending such a beautiful and cherished life was not something Drusus could endure, even for the seconds he’d remain before following his love into death.
He looked about for Calpurnius and Marcus, but the fighting was edging closer and there was no sign of his men. They would not be safely hidden here much longer. A horse was needed, but the cavalry was long gone, and Varus’s beasts were already lying slaughtered in the mud. Mules and donkeys would be at the rear—too far for him to risk leaving Caius in the pursuit of one.
To his back, thick forest stood, rather than the bog that had so hampered them yesterday. Fortunately, no enemy seemed to be coming from the tree line behind them. Perhaps the terrain was too dense even for Arminius’s men. Drusus would have to get Caius into the woods and hide until the danger passed.
He pulled Caius’s good arm and hauled him to his feet. Caius tried to help, but his body sagged, his energy spent. Drusus cast his gaze around frantically, searching a last time for his brother. He was nowhere to be seen, and Drusus’s heart tore a little more. The fates were cruel masters.
Reluctantly, Drusus turned from the battle and led Caius into the woods. He busied his mind with thoughts of how to hide them, rather than the more paralysing thoughts of Calpurnius’s fate.
Caius leaned heavily against him, though he seemed a little more roused after his brief rest. His strength wouldn’t last long, so Drusus had to get him as far from the battle as he was able. The screams of the dying and the cheers of the victors chased them beyond the tree line, echoing so loud around them Drusus felt they hadn’t left the horrific scene behind at all.
He sporadically stopped behind large tree trunks to listen and look for any who may be following them. Direction of sound was hard to tell amongst the trees, but he saw no one coming behind them. Caius moaned pitifully with every movement now, and h
e stumbled frequently. Drusus had not even water to refresh their parched lips.
“Have strength, Cai,” he repeated, desperately hoping his command would flow to his lover and give him the strength he was losing by the second.
Finally, Caius went to his knees, and Drusus knew he had nothing more to give. Drusus crouched and pulled Caius to him. He sat him up, tipping him forward a little to bury his shoulder into Caius’s stomach. With strength he didn’t think he still possessed, he surged to his feet, Caius’s body draped over his shoulder. He thought perhaps his love for Caius would give him speed and superior strength, but instead, he slowly dragged himself and his precious cargo forward. Each footfall one step farther from the Germanic tribesmen.
Drusus’s body sang with agony, his muscles strained, and he heaved up what little was in his stomach, but he didn’t stop. He allowed his mind to think only of the life he had dreamed up for Caius that long-ago night. The farm they’d share, the days of peace and love. He wanted the vision so badly, more so than even a drop of water, at that moment. He deceived himself that the dream could be theirs if they could just survive. The deception worked, and his exhausted body kept moving.
The noise of the battle began quieting to a dull, far-off sound. He told himself this meant they were safe. Drusus cast his gaze around, searching. And then he found what he searched for. A tree with low-lying, thick branches for climbing. He would somehow get Caius up into that tree, so they could rest without fear of discovery until night when it would be safer for them to continue.
Drusus knelt and gently lay Caius at its base. He was sure there must be water around, which he desperately needed to rouse Caius, refresh them both, and clean Caius’s wounds.
“Cal?” Caius mumbled. Drusus wasn’t sure if he was awake or merely talking through the blackness in his mind. Either way, Drusus could not allow his thoughts to flicker to his brother. It would be of no service to anyone for him to get bogged down in his grief now. He must put his faith in Marcus, who he knew would die to get Calpurnius to safety.
Drusus scanned his surroundings. Satisfied they were alone, he quickly ran to what he recognised as the sound of a trickling stream. He almost sobbed when he broke the tree line and saw the gently flowing water. Drusus knelt and drank freely from it. The water looked clear, so he hoped it would not make him sick. He splashed his face, cleaning the crusted blood and filth from it. His small pouch that usually carried his coin would serve to take water back to Caius.
He emptied the coins on the ground and quickly filled the pouch. He ran back to Caius, who lay exactly as Drusus had left him. Drusus knelt and gently held the pouch to Caius’s lips. He trickled some water on them and used his fingers to soothe the dry skin. Caius’s tongue poked out to lick at the moisture, and one of his eyes cracked open.
“Drink, Cai,” Drusus gently commanded. He tipped the pouch and sighed with relief as Caius sipped at the water. When the pouch was emptied, Drusus ran for more, taking his own fill once again before refilling the pouch for Caius.
After two more trips, his thirst was finally quenched as was Caius’s, so Drusus’s thoughts turned to Caius’s wounds. He went for another pouch of water to clean the area to see what devastation had been wrought upon his lover’s hand. When he returned, he sat beside Caius and gently took his arm into his lap.
“This will hurt, Cai,” he murmured.
“Not more so than when it was done, I’ll wager,” Caius replied, trying to smile.
“It still bleeds, so the cloth at least will not be fixed to the wound,” he said, trying to offer the brighter side to Caius. The cloth was soaked with blood and Drusus wondered how much more Caius could stand to lose. He unwound the cloth and cast it to the side.
Blood did not spurt from the wound but still slowly oozed. Drusus fought not to think too much about the missing fingers as he poured water over Caius’s arm and hand. The gash on his arm did not bleed much at all so Drusus had been right that it wasn’t deep. A covering would do for that wound.
Caius’s hand was the problem. Blood seeped from where his fingers once were and Drusus needed to stop the trickle. He knew pressure stopped the flow of blood, so he would somehow need to get even more pressure around the wound. He took Caius’s hand and gently placed it back across his own lap before he stood. He quickly removed his breeches, thanking the gods it had been cold enough to wear them under his tunic. He pulled his gladius out and pierced the thick woollen fabric, and then he ripped them in half.
He knelt again and wrapped the cloth tightly around Caius’s hand. He watched Caius as he worked to gage how he bore the pain. Caius gritted his teeth and flinched, but he held his nerve and allowed Drusus to do his work in spite of the agony he was so clearly inflicting.
“You are a brave man, beloved,” Drusus whispered and pressed his lips softly to Caius’s as he finished. He then removed his scarf and tied that tightly around his work, hoping it was firm enough.
“It is you who is brave, Drusus. And strong and cunning, like the tigers I told you of.”
“You will take my compliment, Caius Vitellius, if only this once.”
Caius merely nodded in reply as though the few words he’d shared with Drusus had drained him of the last of his strength.
In the moments of silence, Drusus heard the familiar crunch of boot on undergrowth—and more than one set of boots. He knew Caius had heard the sound when he stretched his hand out to reach for his sword. Drusus would not leave him defenceless, so he reluctantly placed the hilt of the sword in Caius’s good hand and helped him to stand. Then he turned to do his best to ensure Caius would not need to use it.
He stood in a crouch between Caius and whatever came for them, his gaze trailing all over, trying to spot who approached. He heard them more clearly now though they did not speak. Walking through woods littered with fallen leaves without making a sound was not an easy task. At a guess, he would think there might be at least four men. Drusus was an excellent warrior, but he was not that good.
Finally, a body came barrelling through the tree line, his grimy face fixed in Drusus’s direction, white teeth showing through the dirt and blood that caked his skin. For a moment, Drusus did not recognise him through the filth, but then he noticed the smile the man wore rather than a snarl. Marcus beamed at him, the greatest smile he had ever seen the man wear.
Drusus almost dropped to his knees with the release of fear as he recognised more men following behind Marcus. The third one of them was Calpurnius. Drusus’s face broke into a smile as bright as the sun.
Calpurnius stalked toward them. He cupped his hand behind Drusus’s head and pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving to Caius.
“How do you fare?” Cal asked of Caius.
Caius replied with a small smile and a simple nod.
Drusus looked carefully over his brother while he spoke with Caius. Cal had wounds of his own, including a nasty gash on his thigh, but he was on his feet, and the wound seemed to have crusted over with dried blood.
“Marcus, thank the gods,” Drusus said as Marcus and the other men approached them. “How goes…?” Drusus could not even bring himself to mention the ill-fated battle but knew Marcus understood him.
“All is lost, Centurion. The officers are dead or captured. A few men have managed to scatter into the woods, but most are dead, dying, or the unfortunate captives of the stinking barbarians.”
Drusus had known the answer before Marcus spoke, but his words still cut like a dagger. It appears the gods were furious and venting their rage on the unfortunate legions under the command of Publius Quinctilius Varus.
“When last we looked, they had Varus’s head upon a spike,” Marcus murmured, the shame of such a thing would be felt deeply throughout the empire.
“There is a stream through the trees there. Take your refreshment, and then we will make our plans,” Drusus commanded, still the centurion despite having no century and only six men to command, less than even a contubernium. That was all that rema
ined of the eighty men who had been his to lead.
His men dropped what little gear they had and walked like the defeated to the stream. Drusus was as utterly crestfallen as his men, but they would all need to lift their spirits if they were to make it back to Vetera. Drusus lowered himself to sit beside Caius, who had sat again at the base of the tree.
When the men returned, the grime had been wiped from their faces and wounds had been cleaned and covered. Nonetheless, they still had the look of walking dead men.
“What now, Centurion?” Brutus asked, defeat audible in his tone.
“We spend the day in the trees, Brutus. With luck, the tribesmen will walk beneath us while we remain hidden in the treetops.”
Despite the coming winter, there was still plenty of coverage in the trees, and they were fortunate that this type of tree made for excellent climbing. Drusus saw his men safely to the branches, walking laps to ensure they were not easily seen from the ground, before he returned to Caius. Calpurnius and Marcus stood with him. Drusus would need their help to get Caius into the branches.
It was hard going, awkward, and dangerous but the three of them finally managed to manhandle Caius into a safe position. The branch was thick and sturdy and easily held both his and Caius’s weight. He refused to let Caius sit alone on the branch and risk him plunging to the ground below if his injury saw him fall into blackness.
They sat quietly in the branches; if they did break words it was softly. Caius dozed in his arms, and Drusus was glad of it. He yearned for some rest of his own, but he would seek it when they were all safe.
“We saw you lead Cai into the woods,” Calpurnius whispered from close by on the branch to his right. His words possessed the exhaustion they must all be feeling. “We stayed back in case you were followed.”