by Karrie Roman
“I will be sure Caesar Augustus is made aware of the assistance you give us—if we make it to Vetera.” Drusus nodded and received one in response from Thumelicus. “Priscus, Quintus, search for a campsite. Brutus, Cal, we have need of food.”
His men left quickly to attend to their tasks, no ‘yes, sir’ or anything resembling military practice. Drusus did not need it—not here, not now. His men followed him; he did not need empty gestures to prove it; their actions did that for him.
Marcus stood over Thumelicus, his gladius drawn and no doubt eager to pierce flesh should the German breathe wrong. Drusus knelt alongside Caius who was sitting quietly against a tree. He cupped his lover’s face. His skin was cool to the touch, despite his recent exertions, and his body trembled.
“Are you well, Cai? Have you taken injury?”
“I am well, Dru. Tired. I have not my usual energy.” Caius smiled though it was weak and almost sad.
“You have lost a lot of blood, and you must still feel the pain of your wound.”
“It eases.” Caius sighed. “You did well to keep him alive,” Caius said, nodding toward their prisoner.
“I would have him help us find horses. We need to get you to a medicus.”
“I will live, Dru.”
“I would not allow otherwise.” Drusus softly pressed his lips to Caius’s. The tender touch a balm to his aching soul.
“Drusus?”
He reluctantly turned from his heart and looked at Marcus, nodding for him to speak.
“Haltern is close now. I would ask leave to make for it at first light.”
“Very well, Marcus. Take Priscus and Quintus when the sun rises. Warn those at Haltern, and then make for Vetera.” Drusus was heart weary. Haltern was a dangerous place to go, and though he knew warning them was the right thing to do, he hated the thought of sending his friend there.
“I will go alone, Drusus. You know as well as I it will be a death trap I walk into. Keep Priscus and Quintus with you.” Marcus would not look at him as he spoke. Unlike others who craved praise, any kind of compliment usually led to embarrassed blushing from Marcus. To be called a hero by Drusus would be mortifying for him.
Drusus gave Caius’s shoulder a squeeze and then stood. He stepped to his optio and leaned close, so they would not be overheard. “I would have you live too, Marcus.”
“I will live, Drusus. I am too stubborn to let death take me before I am ready.” His grizzled face smiled as he spoke. Drusus thought again of the love this man had missed out on in his life because he was in the legions and had the misfortune to fall for one who did not love him back. Marcus was as tough as the hide used to make their hobnailed caligae. But he was like Caius in that, as tough as they both were, they were made of the same softness in their core. Marcus had needed love. Drusus comforted himself that he had at least found friendship.
“You cannot keep us all safe together and alive simply because you will it, Centurion. Haltern must be warned. We must do our duty.”
“I know, Marcus,” he murmured. “But it will be a hard parting.”
There were few he’d let as close as Marcus, yet he’d still felt the sting of loss over the years. Marcus would be far more than a mere sting, though, if he did not make it back from Haltern.
Chapter Sixteen
THE CLOSE COPSE of trees Priscus found for shelter last night was so thick the first morning rays of the sun barely pierced it. Drusus was on the final watch of the night again, and he’d seen the sun rising, but he let his men rest awhile longer. He was also putting off his farewell with Marcus.
Caius was sleeping with his head on Cal’s lap, the sight warming Drusus rather than causing jealousy. Marcus was beside them with the rest of the men packed into the small space virtually sleeping on top of one another. Drusus had seen piles of pups sleeping this way.
The prisoner slept between Brutus and Priscus, and he hadn’t stirred all night. In fact, he seemed oddly comfortable, considering he was pressed between the hulking bodies of two Roman legionaries.
“Dru,” Calpurnius’s voice was pitched low, so he did not wake the others or alert any patrolling enemies to their position. “Caius and I need to take a piss.”
“Be quick, Cal,” he ordered. They wouldn’t go far, but Drusus hated having either of them out of sight now.
He kept his eye on them as they slipped by him, Caius leaning heavily on Cal’s arm. Even when they turned behind the copse, Drusus’s gaze remained on the spot he had last seen them.
Only the stirring of a few birds broke the silence, so Drusus heard the crunch of their hobnailed boots on the undergrowth. Simultaneously, he heard the approach of a man behind him. He turned to see Marcus yawning and scratching at his chest as he ambled toward him.
“Good morning, Centurion.” Marcus had been a soldier for as long as he had, and habits die hard. He suspected even years after they were both retired from the legions Marcus would address him as Centurion if they were to meet each other.
“Marcus.”
“Where are the boys?” Marcus asked, referring to Caius and Cal.
“Pissing.”
“Dru—”
“Please don’t, Marcus. No goodbyes. You told me you would live, and I will hold you to that vow.” He slapped Marcus’s shoulder. “And I will follow you to Tartarus and drag you back out if you have lied to me.”
“You do not think I will make it to Elysium?”
“Not if you lie to me and die.”
“You have been a good friend, Drusus. The best.”
“And you, Marcus.”
“If we make it to Augustus—”
“Shh,” Drusus commanded. He stilled and listened again for what he was sure he’d just heard. Marcus had obeyed his order for silence immediately, and he, too, pricked his ears to try to hear whatever Drusus had.
In moments, they heard the crackle of undergrowth being trampled. The steps were not careful, as though they did not fear discovery. Fortunately, it did not sound like many.
Marcus crept to Quintus and shook him awake with his hand covering his mouth to prevent the man from startling and revealing their location. At a gesture from Marcus, Quintus did the same to the others. Drusus’s heart pounded loudly enough in his chest he was sure his enemies would hear it. Caius and Cal were out there.
“Watch him.” He pointed to the prisoner as he whispered to Priscus.
Drusus couldn’t remember if Cal and Cai had their swords when they’d left the thicket of trees. A quick glance showed no weaponry lying around so at least they had some weapons to defend themselves. He gestured to Marcus that he was sneaking to the right, the direction his men had gone.
With luck, he’d be able to get Cal and Caius back into the safety of the copse, so the approaching men could harmlessly pass them by. Despite staying away from the road to Vetera, the barbarians couldn’t be avoided as they were patrolling all over—expecting survivors to make a run for the safety of their winter base.
Drusus stepped carefully, wishing he had time to remove his boots. He felt, rather than heard, Marcus behind him, of course. His optio would not abandon him. This was the strength of the Roman army. They fought together, as one, and never left a man behind.
As he reached the curve of the thicket he heard muffled laughter. Cal and Caius were oblivious to the approaching danger, though smart enough to keep their noise down. Their backs were to him as he and Marcus approached. They were talking quietly, standing close as they did.
Drusus and Marcus drew near. Drusus crept up behind Caius, swiftly wrapping an arm around his waist and the other around his head to clamp a hand over his mouth. He held Caius tightly, knowing he would fight. Drusus feared both the noise of the struggle and the risk of further injury to Caius. Marcus did the same to Cal.
“It is only me,” he whispered to Caius. The fight immediately drained out of Caius, his body all but melting into Drusus’s. Beside them Calpurnius also stopped his scuffle with Marcus.
Drusus stayed plastered to Caius’s back, for just a moment, before stepping away. He put a finger to his lips to indicate silence and then slowly turned to listen for any sound of the approaching enemy. Caius was at his side, Marcus and Cal a little to their right. All was silent.
Had the enemy moved on, unaware of their presence? Or perhaps they were even now watching, stalking them. The foliage was so thick a giant of a man could step out directly in front of them at any minute, and they would not have known of his existence until it was too late.
Even with the shelter of the trees, Drusus felt too exposed. He wanted to get back to the safer hideaway in the copse. He glanced toward Marcus and signalled to the direction of the thicket where they had spent last night. Marcus nodded once before taking a step forward.
Cal followed close on his heels. Drusus pushed Caius next as he brought up the rear. They were quiet, hardly daring a breath as they moved steadily forward when suddenly there came a noise Drusus recognised immediately—the sickening squelch of blade through flesh.
A barbarian stepped through the foliage, pulled his sword from Marcus’s body and brandished it at Cal.
“No!” Drusus roared, charging forward past Caius. Cal had his gladius raised ready to face the enemy. Their blades clashed just as Drusus reached them, surging forward to plant his own metal in the enemy’s stomach.
The man dropped to his knees once Drusus pulled his blade from his guts. Drusus knew it was a fatal wound but it wasn’t enough. Bloodlust roared through him when he caught sight of Marcus huddled on the ground painted in his own blood.
Drusus stepped close to the tribesman and raised his gladius. He didn’t give it a second before he slashed down sinking the edge of his blade into the man’s throat. His strike almost took the man’s head from his shoulders. His face was wet from the spray of blood, red haze coating his vision as he blinked droplets from his eyes. He pulled hard, wrenching at his gladius to dislodge it and finish the job.
“Dru. Drusus,” Cal yelled into his ear. His brother’s hands were on his arm, tugging him. “He is gone, Dru. He’s finished. Marcus needs you.”
Marcus. His friend. His brother. Drusus didn’t want to turn; didn’t want to face what he knew he must. The wound would be fatal, especially out here with no aid from a medicus. No more were supposed to die, definitely not this man.
“Dru, come on,” Cal murmured, quieter now.
Drusus turned from the barbarian, content that he’d had his vengeance, all thoughts now on his friend.
Marcus was prostrate on the ground, Caius kneeling at his side, his good arm trying to stem the flow of blood. Drusus knelt opposite Caius and placed his hand over his, pressing down hard to help though he knew it was pointless. Marcus was pale, an ugly shade of grey that Drusus recognized well. Thin bubbles of blood gurgled from his lips, their splatter adding the only colour to his horrid pallor.
With his other hand he clutched Marcus’s. His friend’s fingers were cold, his grip weak. Marcus looked at him, his eyes unfocused and yet filled with terror.
“Dr…Drusus,” Marcus stammered.
“I am here, old friend.”
Marcus’s eyes slid shut as though he was content to know he was not alone. This man who had given everything, and now his life, for Roma and had asked for so little in return. He had loved Drusus, but Drusus had been unable to return that love in the manner Marcus desired. Guilt was a hard pinch to his guts.
Drusus leaned forward, bringing his lips close to Marcus’s ear. His optio’s breath was laboured, uneven. Life was slipping rapidly from him.
“You were loved, Marcus. You were loved,” he whispered over and over. He needed Marcus to leave this world knowing that. He kept on whispering long after he knew his friend was gone, the fields of Elysium calling him home.
Eventually he straightened. The world looked the same even now that his oldest friend was gone from it. He’d expected the colours to be dimmer, the beauty of the world muted. He looked across to Caius, who was watching him with a tenderness that stole his breath.
Calpurnius stood over them, a sentinel guarding against further attacks, though none had come. Drusus had heard more than one man in the forest though. So where were the others? Might they have gone for aid? More men to come and take the lives of the two other men Drusus loved and what was left of his century.
“Dru?”
He turned his gaze once more to Caius, who still watched him with a care he hadn’t known since he’d left home and his mother so many years ago. He finally released his hold on Marcus and stood before moving reverently around his body to be in Caius’s arms.
Caius was already standing, waiting for him, his arms stretched wide. Drusus stepped in close and allowed those strong arms to pull him tight and hold him tightly.
“He is a great loss, Dru,” Caius whispered into his hair.
Caius spoke tender words as Drusus trembled in his arms, letting his pain bleed from him like pus from a wound. This loss would hurt, more than any he’d suffered before, but there was also a sharp awareness that he still had men he needed to lead back to safety. His brother and this man who held him so tight, and who he loved so well, still needed him.
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, and he turned in Caius’s arms to come face-to-face with Calpurnius.
“Brother,” Cal choked out, “Priscus says the others have been taken care of.”
“Others?” Drusus asked from the shelter of Caius’s hold. He never wanted to leave these arms.
“There were more. Priscus, Brutus, and Quintus took care of them, and your men had the aid of our prisoner.”
Drusus took a deep breath and fought with his own mind—ordering it to focus on the still living. He would dwell on the dead later when they were all safe.
“Cal, would you… Begin digging a hole, legionary. We will not leave our optio’s body for his bones to whiten on the ground. We will cover him with the earth, a burial fit for a Roman warrior before we move on.”
Cal nodded and lifted his lips in something that resembled a grin. Then he bent to retrieve the fallen barbarian’s sword to begin striking at the earth with it.
Priscus now stood to the side, his gaze fixed upon Marcus. Blood splattered Priscus’s face and chest and lined his arms. Their victory had been messy.
“Priscus, call the others. We farewell our friend, and then we make for Vetera. I would be done with this accursed land.”
Priscus nodded and turned away. Drusus moved in to help Calpurnius. Caius was already beside him digging as best he could with his one good arm.
The three of them worked silently together. They were soon joined by the others. Together—and with the help of Thumelicus—they had Marcus’s grave dug in no time.
They eased his body into the shallow grave. Drusus held Marcus’s helmet in one hand, and in the other he gripped Caius’s fingers.
“We will take his helmet and inscribe it with his name so his memory will live on,” Drusus began. There was so much he wanted to say about his loyal friend, but the words were choking in his throat. He bent to retrieve a handful of dirt and threw it over Marcus’s body. He hoped the gesture would suffice.
His men joined him, and they soon covered Marcus, leaving nothing but a churned mound of dirt where his friend lay. Brutus inscribed the tree above him with his pugio, he was the only one who had not lost his dagger over the last few days.
The group of men stood silently as Brutus worked. When he had finished, they turned toward home. Brutus led the way and once again Drusus brought up the rearguard. He turned for a final time, his gaze on the earth where his old friend, his brother, lay until finally he could no longer see the dirt mound.
Caius held tightly to his hand as they walked. The touch between them a bridge that allowed flow of strength to be shared back and forth between them. In the past when their bodies had joined, when he had been inside Caius, Drusus felt they were one being. He had that feeling now through only the touch of their fingers.
He knew with no doubt that, together, he and Caius could reach any position, gain power, or attain wealth, because there was nothing stronger, more potent, than them together. With that understanding, Drusus vowed he would not be parted from Caius. Somehow, he would ensure they stayed together. For months, he’d been training himself to accept and bear their eventual separation—but no longer. Caius was his, body and soul, and he likewise belonged to Caius.
Brutus led them to a stream nearly great enough to be a river only a short while after leaving Marcus’s body. It had a large clear reservoir of water for them to drink from and clean up, and it would be good to wipe the crusted blood and dirt from their bodies.
Salmon swam in abundance in the waters. Pockets of the stream were shallow enough so Thumelicus could stand and, with a skill Drusus suspected was born from years of practice, catch some of the fish for their meal.
They ate them raw, using Brutus’s pugio to gut them open and clean away their scales.
“You have proven to be quite useful, Barbarian,” Priscus said around a mouthful of fish flesh.
Thumelicus glanced up with a shy smile and a quick nod of his head.
“Have you told Centurion how the barbarian saved your woeful ass, Priscus?” Brutus casually asked.
Drusus flicked a glance amongst them. He had asked them nothing of their skirmish with the tribesmen this morning. He had been too trapped in his own grief and misery.
“My arse did not need saving, Brutus. Another minute and I would have had that bastard.”
“Another minute and you would have had your head separated from your body,” Quintus added. He was a man who said little but what needed to be said.
Priscus returned to his fish, studiously ignoring them all as Brutus told the tale.