by Karrie Roman
“Will they allow you to retire?” Caius gasped as he fought for breath once the kiss ended.
“I would beg it of them. I only have another two summers left and after what we have endured…? I would ask Augustus himself to release me from further duty. Then you and I will live in peace on our farm and pray the gods such brutality never finds us again.”
“What of Calpurnius? He will not be freed from the legions.”
Drusus hunched in on himself. He’d do anything to spare his brother the long years of misery in the legions set before him, but unlike Caius, he was uninjured—at least not badly so. He was still able to fight, and Roma would insist he did so.
“I cannot help him, Cai. There is no way they will release a young, unharmed legionary from his duty.”
“But you could stay for your year, make sure he is as equipped as he can be for what is to come.”
“And what of you while I am away?”
Caius smiled gently and cupped his cheek. “I will go and ready our farm. I would miss you as I would miss breath, but I would see Calpurnius safe.”
A year. Another year of blood and battle. A year without Caius. Could he do it? For his brother, he could, though it would hurt. It would also put Caius’s mind at ease. He loved Calpurnius, Drusus had been able to see that from the first day they stood before him. Caius would fret for the next twenty years with worry for Cal. And it would be no different for Drusus. He’d think of his brother at first light in the morning and as he closed his eyes at night. For the first time, he wondered if maybe the legionaries had the better of it than their families left at home to worry every second what had become of their loved one.
“I will do what I can,” he promised. No matter which way he twisted, the gods seemed determined to part him from Caius. He turned his head to press a kiss to Caius’s palm. “Let’s get you out and dry. We need to rest for tomorrow.”
The slave came immediately at Drusus’s call and helped him to dry and dress Caius. He saw no reason why Caius should have to return to the hospital, so instead, he led him back to his room. It had been months since he had seen it, and fortunately, it was not being used by the cohort who had come to Vetera in his absence.
He lit the oil lamp using the fire-striker, thrilled the oil had been kept full. His room brightened with the flickering light, and everything was just as it should be. Winter blankets had been piled on his bed awaiting his arrival home from the campaigns. How many rooms sat ready for their occupants, only to remain empty because the men were lost? How many families who had remained in the villages outside the camp would soon hear of the destruction of the legions and realise their fathers or husbands would not return to them?
What of Marcus’s room? He would need to find the strength to visit one last time. Marcus would not want his personal items left for strangers to rifle amongst and steal. There wouldn’t be much, perhaps a trinket or two. Everything of value a legionary carried with him.
“You did all you could, Drusus.” Caius spoke softly, his words proof he indeed was capable of reading Drusus’s mind.
“What magic is this that you can read my thoughts?” He smiled at Caius as he urged him onto the bed.
“There is no magic, Dru. I know you so well; that is all. You will shoulder the blame for what happened for many years, though nothing that happened is your fault.” Caius wriggled beneath the blankets, holding them up to allow Drusus to join him.
Drusus shuffled as close to Caius as he dare, mindful of his hand. He slid his arm under Caius, gently pulling his lover to lie on his chest.
“Let us not think on it tonight.” Caius squirmed to get himself in the position he wished. “I am comfortable for the first time in weeks. We are safe and together. There will be time in the coming months for you to flay yourself open over what happened.”
“Cai?”
“Mm.” Caius’s warm breath ghosted over his chest, the sensation sending a thrill down Drusus’s spine.
“Does it make me dishonourable that in a small way I cannot regret what happened, because you are alive…and will be released from the army?” Drusus spoke the last on a whisper, ashamed of the thought, yet he could not help it. Caius was safe and would never see battle again.
“No, not dishonourable, Dru. Just a man who loves.”
Caius had a knack for summing up the truth of things. While Drusus would always regret and mourn the loss of Marcus and the ruin of the legions, some part of him would be glad it had all happened because Caius was safe.
“I never imagined such a love,” he whispered.
“Nor I.” Caius barely got the two small words out before Drusus heard his soft snores and his body relaxed into sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
A KNOCK SOUNDED on his door before the sun had even a chance to think of rising. Brutus stood framed at the entry after opening the door without waiting for his order to do so. Even in the pale light of the lamp he held, Brutus’s scowling face told him the news was not good.
“They have come. Survivors from Haltern. They fled during the night. Haltern has fallen.” Brutus’s tone was murderous, and Drusus pitied any Germanic person who found their unfortunate way before this Roman any time soon.
Drusus sat up, careful of Caius still in his arms, though he was awake now too. In truth, after they’d lost Marcus he hadn’t even considered sending another to warn Haltern and now, with the timing, it would not have mattered.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“The traitor Arminius and his barbarians arrived at first light yesterday and attacked Haltern. The warriors kept him out, but the Primus Pilus knew they could not last another day. He ordered the camp evacuated in the dead of night.”
“Primus Pilus? Why is the senior centurion commanding? Where was the Legatus?”
“Dead. He fell early in the battle.” Brutus’s voice was suddenly soft, shaken. He looked every bit as shocked as he sounded. He’d been in the army many years and, according to him, had seen nothing but Roman victory in that time. Drusus had seen a handful of what he wouldn’t exactly call defeats but not victories either, but nothing to compare to this.
Varus’s crushing defeat and the loss of Haltern were something they had not experienced before and would have thought impossible only days ago.
“How many lost?”
“Maybe a third.” Brutus shook his head before taking a steadying breath. “We are to leave for Roma now.”
“Very well. Are the others awake?”
“Yes, they are organising the horses and our supplies. I brought bread for you both.”
Brutuss handed over a loaf which Drusus gratefully accepted. He was hungry and would need sustenance for their ride, but he was glad he would not have to waste time preparing it. This would see them through, and the slaves would have packed a supply of food for their journey, at least until they reached a stationes, one of the outposts dotted along the road to Roma where they would replenish their supplies.
“Gratitude, Brutus. We will join you in a moment.”
Brutus nodded and took his leave. As weary as Drusus’s body still was, it would be good to do something towards righting the terrible wrongs. Augustus must be made aware of the appalling news so plans for vengeance could be made.
“Come, Caius. Eat.” He helped Caius to sit before passing him some oil-soaked bread.
Caius looked well in the lamplight. Drusus noted the first tinge of colour to his cheeks since his wounding, and his eyes seemed clear, brighter than the previous days.
“How is your arm?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“It feels good. It aches, of course, but nothing unbearable.”
Drusus nodded, satisfied Caius was not merely trying to appease him. It would take them well over a week, closer to two, to reach Roma, even swapping fresh horses at the stationes regularly. Augustus would have the bones of the news from the messenger by the time they arrived. Drusus was left to wonder at the reception they would receive from their Caesar
once they had fleshed out the tragedy for him.
“Are you well, Dru?” Caius gently lay his good hand on Drusus’s forearm. His hand was sturdier and warmer than the last few days. Drusus was pleased to see Caius recovering so well.
For a moment, he considered lying to Caius but that would not do. They were partners and Caius deserved honesty from him. “I slept poorly. Nightmares of Marcus chased me awake for much of the night.”
“I thought as much. You called his name on occasion.”
“Apologies, Caius.”
“No. There is nothing to be sorry for, Dru. He was your friend, and you loved him…and lost him. I know of no words to ease your pain, but I am here. And I love you.” Caius leaned toward him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
Drusus smiled as he pulled away from his lover. Caius’s love would not heal his pain, but it certainly helped to seal some of the gaping wound. He reached out and let his fingertips softly drift down Caius’s cheek. His face was rough from the stubble that had grown over the last few days. Drusus had been too exhausted last night to bother with Caius or his own shaving needs. He had no time to worry about it now, but he would tend to those needs on the way to Roma. They could not stand before the emperor with a face covered in hair.
In the meantime, he enjoyed the scrape of the stubble on his fingertips.
“Come. We should go. The others will be waiting, and I would not give Calpurnius reason to tease us for the entire journey.” Caius winked.
Just that small moment of levity had Drusus thanking the gods for sparing his lover. Fortuna might be looking upon him favourably.
They washed and dressed quickly, occasionally stopping to share a brief touch or kiss. Drusus had come closer than he cared to think about to losing this. He’d spend the rest of his days appreciating what had been spared for him.
Together they walked to Marcus’s small room. Everything was ordered and tidy, as the occupant had been. Drusus took a deep breath, pushing memories from his mind. The time for thinking of Marcus would come once his duty to Roma had ended, when the sorrow he felt could be freed.
On the small wooden table near his pallet stood a little carved elephant Drusus recalled Marcus buying in the markets one day when they had been visiting together. Marcus had spoken of the tales he’d heard of Hannibal, the Carthaginian who had been determined to destroy Roma and brought his elephants across the alps to help him succeed. Though he’d never seen an elephant, Marcus had been mesmerised by the size they were reported to be. His eyes lighting up as he’d gripped the carved elephant and described to Drusus how large the real beast would be.
Perhaps Marcus had foreseen his fate and left the trinket here for Drusus to find. A small part of Marcus Drusus could hold forever.
Drusus gently picked up the small elephant, rubbing his thumb carefully over the wooden body. He smiled softly and placed the carving in his pack. Marcus’s grizzled face would fade from memory, the sound of his voice forgotten by his ear, but Drusus would hold onto the small carved elephant, a solid reminder of his oldest friend.
Before he became lost to his sorrow, Caius gripped his shoulder, gently squeezing so Drusus knew he was not alone.
By the time they reached the stables, the rest of the group was already there, lounging about, waiting for them. Calpurnius cocked his head at their approach and gave them a wink. “About time. Did you not get enough of each other last night?” He smirked.
It was typical Cal, the teasing, the happy expression, but something was off. Drusus couldn’t quite pick what, but something was not quite right with his brother. The spark in his eyes was missing. He tried not to worry, Calpurnius had lived through a nightmare. For a time, his mind would be filled with those images, and it was a lot to bear.
He looked over the rest of his men. They looked fresher than the last few days, cleaner, and their wounds were dressed. Tiredness still hung like a cloud over them, but the journey to Roma would be a holiday for them compared to their flight from Varus’s disaster.
As they set out from Vetera, the pinks and oranges of the crisp early morning were just beginning to fade into the palest of blues. It was as beautiful a morning as Drusus could remember. He turned to take a final look at Vetera, the closest place he’d had to a home in the last almost twenty years. It looked as it always had, like every other Roman Castra. Drusus would be happy to never see another.
“Wondering if you’ll ever see it again?” Caius asked. He rode at Drusus’s side, his good hand holding the rope, his other strapped to his chest by the medicus just before they set out.
“Yes. I have never asked myself that before. All the times I have left it to march off to war. Never once have I wondered if I will be back. Perhaps this time is different.” Leaving Vetera felt distinctive this time—permanent. “Do you think Marcus thought of it when we left on the summer campaigns?” Had Marcus had any portent his time in this life was coming to an end?
“I do not know, Dru. But I know that even if he’d had an ill omen he would have fought on anyway. He was courageous and strong. An ideal for us all to follow.”
“He was,” Drusus murmured. He turned from his past to face the road to Roma.
THE FIRST THREE days on the road were uneventful. The men were tired, but the closer to Roma—the farther from Germania—they got, the livelier they became. The notable exception was Calpurnius. He had become quieter, more subdued. Something clearly troubled his young brother. Drusus thought he knew what it was.
Every night, whether they camped on the side of the road or stayed in one of the stationes along the way, the silence of the night was rent by Calpurnius’s screams. His sleep was haunted by violent nightmares that drew from him such torturous sounds as Drusus had never heard before.
When questioned about his dreams, Calpurnius had shrugged and brushed off any concern as though they were nothing. Drusus was having dreams of his own—mostly of Marcus—and he was sure the others did also. But none were as violent and devastating as Cal’s seemed to be.
Drusus had witnessed this before. For some men, adjusting to the life of a soldier was no effort at all, while others took months—even years—of suffering nightmares before they settled into it. For a handful, the nightmares never stopped.
Over his years in the legions, he’d observed battle-hardened men fall to pieces, often soon after an especially vicious battle. The encounter with Arminius’s men had been brutal, hard for a seasoned soldier to deal with, much less a man in his first real combat.
Most legionaries carried scarring all over their bodies, but for many the deepest and most troubling of those scars were the ones in their minds.
After the fourth night, Drusus knew he must talk to his brother. With a supportive nod from Caius, he held his horse back until Calpurnius came alongside.
“Cal?”
Calpurnius started at his voice as though his mind hadn’t been here at all.
“Drusus. You startled me.”
“Apologies, brother. I would ask if you are well?”
“I am well, Dru.”
Drusus cocked an eyebrow at him, hoping the gesture alone might elicit some words of truth from Cal.
“Your nightmares tell me different,” Drusus said when Cal remained silent.
“They are nothing.”
“Do not be ashamed, Cal. Many of us have them—”
“Do you all wake soaked in sweat, your limbs shaking so violently you fear they may break from your body? Do you wake drowning in your own tears, your mother’s name on your lips because you are so desperate for the comfort from childhood?” Cal demanded. Though his tone was angry, his young face was a mask of despair.
“I have seen many men so. Battle is a difficult thing to become used to at the best of times, Cal. What you witnessed and endured in the forests of Germania was worthy of nightmares.” Drusus realised he and Cal had fallen well behind the others. He idly wondered if it had been Caius’s doing. Regardless of how it had happened, at least his broth
er had some privacy while he bared his secrets.
“Become used to? Dru, I have no appetite—for anything. Food, drink, pleasure. Nothing appeals to me. Everything is grey, dull. If I close my eyes or even just let my mind wander from my task, all I see are the ruined bodies, hear the awful screams. Sometimes, I can even smell the blood and death. It is such a vile and pungent stench that it literally sickens me. I have brought up more meals than I have kept down.”
Calpurnius’s state was far worse than Drusus had suspected. And he did not know how to help him. The stoic part of him that had been a soldier in Roma’s legions for eighteen years wanted to shout at Calpurnius to stand fast, move on, put the battle behind him—endure. But the big brother part of him wanted to wrap Cal in his arms and hold him until he’d soothed all the terror and pain from his little brother.
“I do not know how to help you, Cal.”
“It is not your responsibility to fix everyone, Dru.” Cal smiled sadly at him. Drusus watched as Calpurnius pulled himself together before his eyes. He imagined Calpurnius telling himself to bear things and carry on. “Perhaps a good drink and a good whore will have me back together.” Cal tried a smile, though it looked more a grimace.
“Perhaps,” Drusus mumbled, knowing that would only be a short-term fix if anything. Maybe if he managed to get Cal home…?
Calpurnius rode in silence for the rest of the day, only speaking when asked a question. That night when they camped, Drusus ensured he set up his roll next to Calpurnius’s. If his brother woke in fits and screams, at least he would be there for him.
“How did it go?” Caius asked once they’d settled down for the night. Calpurnius was on first watch, so he would not overhear their discussion.