Sons of Rome

by Karrie Roman

“Priscus was tormenting a skinny little barbarian. He was playing with his kill, but he did not see the giant one sneaking up behind him with one of their monstrous swords in his hand. Just as he would have swung at Priscus and collected his head, our little prisoner came roaring out of nowhere and threw himself into the giant. He gave Priscus the time to finish off both the tribesmen.” Brutus snarled as he spoke of the death of their enemy. After Marcus, they would all enjoy taking the life of as many of Germania’s tribesmen as they could find.

  “And he has yet to thank the boy,” Quintus added.

  They waited to see if Priscus would speak, but when it became clear he would not, Drusus thanked Thumelicus for him. Priscus bristled with the gratitude offered to the barbarian, but Drusus paid him no mind. The boy had saved his life and again proven himself loyal to Roma.

  Even as he had this thought, Drusus knew he would never trust Thumelicus completely, regardless of his actions. He had learned too well from Arminius where misplaced trust in a barbarian got one.

  Drusus licked his fingers and stood. He fetched some water from the stream in his pouch and returned to Caius’s side.

  “I would redress your wound, beloved,” he murmured as he knelt beside his lover.

  Caius endured his ministrations as he had done for the last few days. His face paled as it always did when Drusus pulled the crusted bandage from the wound. The torn flesh and ruined digits appeared quite well from what Drusus could tell, but he still wished a medicus was on hand. The bleeding had eased to barely a trickle. The skin was puckered around the edge of the wounds on the stumps of what remained of his fingers.

  “Does it still pain you much?”

  “Very little. I am well, Dru.”

  Drusus nodded, choking on the lump in his throat. “I will not lose you, Cai. Now or ever. Do you understand me?”

  Caius watched him closely, and Drusus did his best to allow his emotions to bleed into his eyes for Caius to read there.

  “I know, Dru. I love you too.” With his good hand, Caius swept his fingers into the strands of Drusus’s hair. Petting him as he would to calm one of the beasts on his farm.

  “I do not know about the rest of you, but I cannot wait to get back to Vetera so these two can find a room and get on with it somewhere the rest of us don’t have to watch and listen to.” Calpurnius’s voice held a lightness Drusus had not heard in days. His brother’s natural ease of spirit doing its best to push down the fear and sadness he must be feeling. It was a balm for them all.

  Drusus allowed his men to have fun at his expense as they teased him for his ‘womanly care’ of Caius. By the time they left the stream, their burdens seemed lighter, though the ache of Marcus’s loss still pressed too heavily upon Drusus.

  As the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, Thumelicus suddenly stopped, bringing Priscus, who held his rope, to a startling halt. Priscus turned on his captive, ready with his gladius to plunge the tip through flesh.

  “Listen,” Thumelicus hissed at him.

  Drusus came to a stop, listening as Thumelicus had asked. Through the dense trees he made out soft voices, laughing and singing. These were not soldiers’ voices; some were pitched too high while others were clearly the musical sounds of children at play. They must have stumbled upon a tribe, and with luck, that tribe would have horses.

  With horses, they could easily make Vetera before nightfall the very next day. It was too much of a temptation to ignore, despite the danger of stealing horses with the sun still lightening the sky.

  “Brutus, take Thumelicus and get a lay of the land for us.” Drusus ordered.

  Brutus took the rope from Priscus, keeping his gladius to Thumelicus’s ribs. They made their way swiftly through the bush, disappearing from sight in moments. Drusus and his men stood ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

  Drusus was starting to worry when the two men didn’t return after a longer period than he thought acceptable. He was just preparing to take Priscus and track down his missing man when he heard the unmistakeable thump of hoofbeats on the earth. Without orders, his remaining men slunk into the nearest trees to take whatever cover they could. Unless the riders came directly along this pass—unlikely due to the thick foliage—they should remain hidden.

  The horses were not galloping or cantering, merely walking through the forest. They stopped nearby, and Drusus held his breath. He pulled Caius tighter against him, refusing to let go of his lover.

  “Drusus.”

  He heard his name whispered through the branches, and then suddenly Thumelicus was visible amongst the trees. Drusus pushed Caius behind him and stepped out from where they were hidden, his gladius drawn.

  Thumelicus watched him cautiously as he approached but did not back away from him. “We have horses,” he whispered.

  Drusus was startled. He’d sent them for information, and they’d returned with horses. He should have known Brutus better. Drusus followed Thumelicus, still not lowering his gladius. He could not trust this man.

  Brutus was waiting in a clearing, his hands holding the ropes of four horses, a giant grin brightening his expression. Drusus raised an eyebrow at him.

  “What?” Brutus shrugged.

  “I said find out what was there.”

  “I did. There were horses, and now they are ours.” Brutus winked.

  Drusus only shook his head and signalled behind him. He knew his men would be watching for his all-clear. They came in a single line through the brush and trees, each of them wearing matching grins.

  Brutus and Calpurnius helped to lift Caius on the horse Drusus mounted. Caius settled into the space between his thighs, and Drusus wrapped an arm around his waist to help keep him anchored. Quintus and Calpurnius shared another horse while Brutus had one of his own. Priscus kept Thumelicus with him nestled between his spread legs as Caius was with him.

  Brutus led them away from the clearing, keeping the horses to a slow pace while in such dense forest. Drusus’s horse was in the rear, happy to follow the other horses without instruction from Drusus. He relaxed, allowing the horse to have its head as they caravanned toward Vetera.

  Drusus permitted himself a moment to enjoy the feel of Caius’s body tight against his own as they bounced along on the horse’s back. He would be sure to try this with Caius again one day—a day when their situation was not dire and his heart did not hurt so.

  When they cleared the forest, far off in the distance, barely above the horizon a plume of smoke rose into the sky. Vetera. Home was even closer now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN THEY REACHED the gates of Vetera, Drusus soon realised no other survivors had made it back before them. Those who had remained at the winter base were calm and relaxed. No preparations were being made for rescue, revenge, or retreat. Camp life for the skeleton crew left behind was continuing as normal.

  Drusus went in search of the Legatus left in charge of the camp in Varus’s absence. He’d left Caius with Calpurnius to go to the infirmary to have his wounds seen to by the medicus. It had been his most difficult task—walking away from Caius. But they were safe now, and Drusus had his duty to attend to. Always his duty.

  He quickly reached the Praetorium doing his best to ignore the stares of those ambling around the base. He was told the Legatus was in Varus’s barrack, using his office while he was organizing the requisition of supplies for the imminent return of the legions.

  “Legatus,” he called as he hastily approached. The man’s face was familiar, and Drusus quickly recognized him as some rich man’s son who had been sent here as a stepping stone to the senate. Drusus couldn’t remember ever seeing a weapon in the man’s hands, but he didn’t care at all right now so long as the Legatus took appropriate action when he heard the news.

  “What is it, Centurion?”

  “I bring tragic news. Varus is dead. His three legions lay dead with him.”

  The Legatus stood as the officers with him gasped at Drusus’s words. “What?”


  Drusus took a breath and shared his tale. He watched the expressions on the men’s faces shift between shock, terror, anger, and shame. They would all be smeared with the shame of Varus’s defeat, his foolishness.

  “Word must be sent to Roma immediately,” the Legatus began. “How many of you returned?”

  “There is seven in my group, including one from the Chatti who fought with us.”

  “Get them ready. You will leave tomorrow at the sun’s first rays.”

  Drusus stared at his Legatus, unsure he understood the man clearly. Perhaps exhaustion was confusing him. “Apologies, sir, we leave for Roma?”

  “Yes. I would have you and your men be there to report to Caesar in person. He will want to know everything. A messenger can only give second-hand knowledge. You and your men can tell him exactly what you saw and heard.”

  “One of my men is wounded—”

  “Then he may remain here.”

  No, absolutely not. Drusus was not leaving Caius behind. Safe though he may be behind the walls of Vetera, Drusus had no way of knowing what orders they may be given once they reached Roma. He would not risk permanent separation from him.

  “We will be ready for travel, Legatus. All of us.”

  “Very well, Centurion. I will dispatch a messenger immediately to forewarn the emperor and leave you to give him the detail. Rufus,” he called to one of the shadowy men who had stood listening in silence but for muffled gasps of shock.

  “Yes, Legatus.”

  “Dispatch a rider to Roma immediately and another envoy to Tiberius. He may wish to bring his army north to seek vengeance for this outrage.”

  “Sir,” Rufus replied and fled the tent.

  Drusus was gratified to see the Legatus take the matter with the gravitas it required and was satisfied Tiberius would wish to quell any uprising in the lands his long-dead brother had fought so bitterly for.

  “Gratitude, Centurion. Dismissed.”

  As he fled the tent, Drusus wondered if this Legatus was always so calm or if he did not fully appreciate the disaster that had befallen them. Either way, Drusus could only think of getting to Cai and ensuring he was fit to travel tomorrow.

  He found Caius in a hospital bed, freshly bandaged and surrounded by his men. Even Thumelicus was by his side. He leaned against the door frame and watched them for a moment. They were filthy, covered in blood, sweat and dirt, yet none of them had left Caius’s side. Drusus absorbed the blow as he remembered the man who was not here with them. Marcus’s death would be a gaping, festering wound for a long time to come.

  “Drusus, what did the Legatus have to say?” Calpurnius’s question broke through his reverie. He shook off his gloom and approached the group.

  “We are for Roma at first light.”

  His statement was met with blank stares. None had anything to say, though Brutus’s mouth moved as if he would speak, but no words came out.

  “Have your wounds tended, then bathe, eat, and rest. We face yet more long days.” He tried, searching for a reaction.

  “All of us?” It was Thumelicus who finally broke the silence. Drusus almost laughed at the irony that the one amongst them who was not Roman seemed most keen to go to the eternal city.

  “Yes,” Drusus answered, his gaze fixed upon Caius.

  Caius was watching, a small smile on his lips. “I will be ready, Dru.”

  “I will not leave without you.” The room emptied as his men drifted away to do as asked. For the first time in too long, he was left entirely alone with Caius.

  “What has the medicus said?” he asked as he perched on the edge of Caius’s bed.

  “The wound heals well. He has given me willow tea and opium and is preparing to stitch it.”

  Drusus brought Caius’s healthy hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then turned his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. From behind, he heard the shuffle of someone approaching—the medicus come to stitch Caius’s wounds.

  “Centurion,” the elderly man greeted. Too old to travel comfortably, he stayed behind while the younger men went on campaign with the legions. He would soon learn of the loss of those men. This medicus was a man who had seen every kind of wound or injury conceivable over his years in the legions. His experience had given him great knowledge, and Drusus knew no one better to treat Caius. He had stitched Drusus up on several occasions in the past and though his hands were rough, his fingers crooked with age, the man still had a gentle touch.

  “Are you staying?” he asked Drusus as he began spreading out his equipment.

  “I am.”

  Drusus sat at Caius’s side, their gazes locked as the medicus stitched together the ruined stumps of Caius’s hand. The opium he had been given, though not completely numbing the pain, did enough to ease it so Caius only grimaced as the medicus worked.

  “I will get more willow tea for you; then, may I suggest the baths? You both are bringing tears to my eyes with your fetid stench.” The old man laughed, collected his gear, and moved away, leaving Drusus and Caius alone once more.

  As soon as the old man was out the door, Caius’s soft laughter reached Drusus’s ear. He turned to his lover who was indeed laughing, despite everything.

  “Forgive me. He is an amusing man.”

  “He is. A good man too. One who knows what he is doing.”

  “He does.” Caius squeezed his knee. His face turned serious. “How are you, Dru?”

  “I am well—”

  “No. You have lost your oldest friend. Do not tell me you are well.”

  Drusus let his head fall to his chest. Caius knew him better than any other and would not let him bury his pain; rather, he would ask him to share it with him so the burden became theirs.

  “I loved him. Not as I love you, but he was my brother. I am… It has not fully hit me yet, but I know I will be lost without him. One day, I will turn to look to him, and he will not be there. He was always there for me. He never let me down.”

  “He loved you.”

  “Yes.” Drusus carefully lowered himself over Caius, pulling him up gently into his arms. Their embrace was awkwardly cramped, as they were on the hospital pallet, but Drusus needed to feel Caius; he needed all of him.

  Drusus took a deep breath, steeling his spine. He was a stoic, believed in keeping going on regardless of whatever chaos swirled around him. At times like this it was difficult. He lowered Caius to the bed. His lover was so beautiful, even if he was still covered in the filth of their flight from Varus’s defeat.

  “Are you certain you can travel with us tomorrow?” Drusus asked as he curled his palm over Caius’s cheek, his fingertips flirting with wisps of his hair.

  “I would not be parted from you.”

  “Nor I you.”

  They sat quietly for a time. Drusus’s thoughts were lost in a haze of tremendous relief to be back at Vetera, though they were tempered with the bitter hue of grief.

  “Dru?”

  “Yes, beloved?”

  “I am in need of a bath. Would you help me?”

  Drusus smirked down at his lover. “Help you get naked and wash your beautiful body? I think I can do that.”

  The bathhouse was empty when Drusus finally had the medicus’s okay to take Caius. He’d been given strict instructions about his wounds and to keep his arm dry. He’d also given Drusus salves to use on Caius’s wounds in the days to come and instructed him how to cut and pluck out the stitches once the skin knitted together.

  They were greeted by a slave who helped Drusus get Caius safely settled on the bench in the bath.

  While the slave held Caius’s arm safely out of the water, Drusus carefully washed Caius’s body, sluicing it with oils before using his strigil to scrape off the dirt. He instructed the slave to help Caius stand on the shallow bench to enable him to tend to the rest of his body. He’d have given just about anything right now for them to be alone and for Caius to be healthy. He would never tire of Caius’s body.

  At last, his lover was cle
an, and Drusus helped the slave gently lower him onto the bench once more. The warm waters of the bath lapped at their chest as they sat side by side.

  “Dismissed,” Drusus ordered the slave. “Wait in the atrium. I will call when I need your aid.”

  The young slave stood, gave them a slight bow, and left. Drusus moved to sit on the other side of Caius, enabling him to take over the duty of holding his arm raised above the water. Drusus would not linger overlong in the warm waters. Both he and Caius needed their rest for the long trip to Roma tomorrow. Caius’s ruined arm would make it a slow journey. He would not be able to hold the rope of his horse with both hands; his balance would be thrown off, so they would need to set a walking pace rather than a trot.

  “What troubles you?” Caius asked, his voice already soft with weariness.

  “I was thinking of the trip to Roma. How you would manage your horse.” Drusus watched his lover. His soft brown eyes widened slightly as though he hadn’t given it any thought at all. “Perhaps we can take a wagon,” Drusus said, thinking out loud. Young and proud, the thought of being treated as a cripple would not sit well with Caius, but Drusus would do as he must to ensure his safety and comfort.

  “It will be fine, Dru. I am well. I promise I will manage. It will be like riding back home when I could only hold the horse with one hand because the other held an injured sheep or the rope of a wandering cow.” Caius winced as he shifted a little, knocking his wounded arm onto Drusus’s chest, giving away his lie.

  “You will not be thought of as weak if you need a wagon, my love.”

  “I care not if I am thought of as weak. I wish only to not slow you down. Augustus must be made aware of what has become of Varus and his legions. Our Caesar must be allowed to decide what action to take, how he would seek his vengeance.”

  Drusus knew the truth of Caius’s words, but he did not wish to think of plans for vengeance. He’d seen enough bloodshed for ten lifetimes, and with the loss of Marcus, he had been broken. The fight, once within him, however reluctantly, was gone. He yearned for peace and a home far more than he ever had.

  “I will not seek it with him, Caius. I have fought enough. Roma has taken everything from me, but the gods have given me something back…you. I would not risk a future with you for all the vengeance in the world.” Drusus trailed a fingertip down Caius’s cheek, snaking it under his chin to gently tip his head back. He covered Caius’s soft lips with his own, proving to Caius, himself, the gods, and anyone else who may be watching that he belonged to Caius, and Caius was his.