The Mules around me broke formation rather sluggishly, not knowing what to do next. I, however, burst from the line in a sort of panic, fearing that if all the men from the Fourth and Fifth made it back to their camp before I could find Titus, I would never be able to spot him in the endless sea of armor.
The other Mules probably thought me ridiculous, searching frantically as I was, but I didn’t care. Truthfully, I was still not even convinced that Titus would actually be here. Countless possibilities ran through my mind.
But then I spotted him. Except, what I saw was not what I’d been looking for. I had been searching for the bushy-haired farm boy, in a simple tunic and covered in dirt, but what caught my eye was the striking resemblance to my father. The same fair skin and hair, the same nobility etched into each line on his face, the same quiet, stern nature that my father was known for. The resemblance was uncanny.
“Titus!” I shouted and ran to him. Finally, he spotted me.
There was nothing discernible in his face. He stared back almost blankly. “Brother!” I cried, approaching him with hand outstretched, but he only scanned me and waited. Finally, he accepted my hand and pulled me close to him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Well, I … I joined the Colors. You were the one that suggested it, remember?” This was hardly the reunion I’d expected.
“I see that …” Silence crept between us.
“I guess I should stand at attention,” I said after a moment, as I caught sight of his prefect’s crest.
“Stop that. I won’t have any brother of mine treating me like a superior … except when I give you an order—then I expect you to comply.” I winced at his tone. “Where is your centurion?”
“Right over there. Centurion Tremellius Scrofa.” I pointed him out.
“I know him. He’s been serving in Gaul since we lost the Battle of Noreia. He tried to leave the Colors, but I guess he couldn’t. He’s a good soldier, though—always listen to him.” I nodded. “Centurion!” Titus waved him over. Tremellius smiled, something I’d never seen him do.
“What in the hell do we have here? A prefect now?” Tremellius laughed and shook Titus’s hand, but he didn’t forget to snap to attention and offer a salute. Even with the formality, there was a comfort between them I envied.
“Eh, that’s what they tell me, anyways.” Titus waved him off attention and patted his shoulder. “You received your discharge papers, though. Why are you back here?”
“Missed the Colors, and I discovered that I hate civilians.” They laughed.
“Do you care if I borrow this soldier for a while?” Titus gestured to me.
“Of course not. Has he done something wrong?” Tremellius’s eyes hardened as he turned to me, becoming again the disciplinarian I had come to know.
“No, no… He’s my brother.”
Tremellius shot us both a look of astonishment. “What? He doesn’t look a damn thing like you!” He sized us both up.
“He takes after our mother, I after our father.”
“I see. Sure you don’t have another brother? Decanus Basilus looks just like the kid.” He nodded to me. “Anyways, let me know if you want me to rough him up sometime or give him extra guard duty.” He winked and punched my shoulder, turning to leave.
“Let’s go to my tent,” Titus suggested and turned on his heels.
His tent was at least three times bigger than the one I was used to, and fully furnished. Having ascended the ranks, it made sense. He poured us two cups of piss and handed one to me.
“How is home?” He propped himself up on his desk.
“Nursia is struggling, but General Gaius Marius has recently sent grain, so—”
“No, how is our home? How are Mother, Volesa, and my boy?”
“Mother is doing as well as could be expected with both of us gone. Volesa misses you deeply and doesn’t fail to let us know.” I tried to smile. “Gavius is thriving, growing every day. An oak tree. A young Hercules.” Titus finally smiled and exhaled deeply.
“I miss them …” He took a long pull of his wine and scratched his helmet-flattened hair. “Do I seem different?” He met my eyes for the first time.
“You do.”
“I was worried I might. If I’ve seemed unhappy that you are here …”
“Are you?”
“No, no. That’s not it. I am pleased to see you, and I regret it if I haven’t shown that properly.” Titus had always been a closed communicator, just like Father. “I know I encouraged you to come here. I just hadn’t considered that would mean we would both be here.”
I was perplexed. When he noticed the look on my face he continued. “We are both in the north, Quintus. We are both fighting the Reds.” But his meaning wasn’t registering with me, and he knew it. “Little brother, Rome has never defeated these bastards. Ever. We haven’t had a near defeat, inflicted huge losses… . We have been massacred every time our swords have met theirs.” He rubbed his head. And for a moment, the candlelight illuminating his weary face, I thought I could see those same strained eyes. “I don’t fear dying for Rome, brother… . No, I would be honored to die for Rome. But what if the Reds decide to leave Spain and come after us again this year? What if they test the Fourth, and we are annihilated like all the others? Mother will have lost two sons, Volesa will have lost a husband and the natural heir to her hand, and Gavius will have lost both his father and the man who would raise him.” He poured more wine.
“I see.” Such a possibility had never occurred to me. Death in combat enters the mind of every young trainee, but the thought of Titus dying was so ridiculous to me that I’d never even considered it. The thought of us both dying was unbelievable. “Do you have reason to believe the Reds will leave Spain? They’ve left us alone for a few years now. Maybe they’ve found some fertile fields and decided to settle down.”
“Spain isn’t big enough for the Cimbri and Teutones, Quintus. They’ll be back, and I think that time is fast approaching.” He paused, but the look on his face told me that he was debating whether or not to confide in me. “We received word a few days ago that Maximus is planning to order an attack on a Red ally tribe in Gaul. He sent word, asking for suggestions. He said he didn’t care which tribe, but he wanted battle. I presume he became accustomed to enormous amounts of bloodshed serving under Marius, so he’s preparing to continue the trend here.”
“And you think this will provoke the Reds into returning?”
“The Reds already want to return. They want to destroy Rome, and they have no reason to believe they can’t, given recent history. But some of their allies need convincing, and I think this will give them the means to do so.”
“Do you think we can win?” I felt like a child, like I was playing dress up in my armor. He waited a long time to reply.
“I don’t know. But by the gods, I am afraid of what will become of Rome if we do not. These will not be merciful overlords. When we conquer an enemy, Rome takes a few slaves, a few virgins, a little land, and some taxes. Eventually, the enemy can even enjoy the wealth of the Republic. But the Reds …” He clenched his teeth. “You know I haven’t fought the Cimbri directly since I arrived in the north—only their allies. But along our marches, we have seen the atrocities the Cimbri leave in their wake. They are more animals than men … they make Gauls look like patricians by comparison.” I downed my wine and asked for more. Titus said, “I don’t want you to worry, little brother. You leave that to me and the other officers. The gods will protect us. I just hope that you and the rest of the replacements will be prepared. You’re stepping in because a lot of good men have been slain.”
“I don’t have much to compare to, but I think the men I’m with are good soldiers. I am proud and honored to serve alongside them. I think they will serve admirably.”
“We’ll see how admirable they are when a spear tip is at their throats,” he said quickly, almost with irritation. But he soon came to himself and looked at me with sorr
owful eyes, although he didn’t voice any apology.
We stayed together for a few more hours, trying to discuss more pleasant topics. We put back a great deal of wine as we laughed about old times, swapped stories about life under the Caepiones, and I told him of retiring my military tribuneship to become a Mule. Altogether, it was a pleasant evening, conversing this way. But the underlying fear never dissipated, so that when I finally saluted him and left for my tent, I realized how shaken I was. That night, I lay awake for hours, trying to ignore Bear’s incessant snoring and trying to block out the endless thoughts that rushed through my head like an angry river.
Eventually I rose and took over for the Mules on guard, allowing them to go back to sleep. As I climbed the hastily constructed ladder to the sentry tower, I heard footsteps behind me. Bear gave me a sleepy smile and patted my back.
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
“No, no. I was awake. I try to pretend I’m asleep when I can’t nod off. Sometimes I can trick myself.” We turned and scoured the tree line. “What do you think our families are doing back in Rome?”
“Sleeping, I bet.”
“Not on guard duty, anyways!” He chuckled. “I bet my mother is going to wake up in a few hours. She’ll say her prayers to the household gods and shake my brothers awake so they can help prepare the butcher shop for market day.”
“Your family owns a butcher shop?”
“It’s my mother’s new husband’s. But … she does most of the work. He’ll probably stay in bed most of the day and chastise them for how little coin they bring in.” I nodded. Silence followed. “Are you afraid of battle?”
I took a long time considering my answer. “I am, in a way. I just want to do well.”
“Well, I’m not,” he said, but he shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes I am afraid to die though.” He looked at me seriously. “I’ve never died before.” After a moment, he chuckled at himself and I joined in. I shifted my view from the vast plain to the trees in the distance, thick ancient oaks. I no longer wished to see enemies hiding there.
SCROLL XV
The next morning the bugles startled me from a restless sleep.
“Morning, Stallion!” Bear said, far too cheerfully for my liking. It was still dark out.
Shouts rang through the camp of. “Everybody up! Let’s get moving, ladies!” We all reconvened outside of our tents and attempted to shave with our daggers in the darkness, using only the water in our wineskins.
“Now remember, lads, I expect your gear to be in perfect condition and your personal hygiene to be flawless.” Terence was already beginning his impression of Maximus, itself nearly flawless. After preparing ourselves and gulping down some lukewarm soup, we formed up for the change-of-command ceremony. These kinds of formations were always tedious, but today, exhaustion made it absolutely unbearable.
We were put at attention and kept there for a great deal of time as the different century and cohort flags crossed the parade field in procession, the dull thumping of drums sounding off in the distance. I remember my eyes trying to force themselves closed as I stood there, nearly stumbling forward until Ax jabbed me playfully in the ribs.
The former commander of the Fourth and Fifth spoke, wishing his old soldiers well on their journey and giving them a final salute. Maximus then received the command and assumed his position at the head of our joint force—all four legions.
“I know it may be unprecedented,” he began, “to give combat orders on my first day in command, but these are unprecedented times.” My heartbeat increased and I listened intently, my conversation with Titus flooding back to me. “Warfare is upon us. There are enemies of Rome in our very midst. They have committed atrocities against the Roman people and have gone unpunished. This cannot be tolerated!” His voice carried, as loud and commanding as the drums had been. It rose with the morning wind and echoed across the camp. “There is a Gallic tribe called the Tigurini. These people helped the Cimbri completely annihilate a Roman force, killing my father-in-law Marius’s consular colleague and two other consular-ranked Romans in the process! Thousands of Romans were forced to march under the yoke like slaves, whipped and spat on, and only permitted to die after they had been tortured, mangled, and dismembered.” I had never seen Maximus so grim before. Everyone was silent; even the merchants and prostitutes lining our camp stood motionless. The pack animals, too, in the distance seemed to be listening to the fates that awaited us and the Gauls. “This cannot be tolerated! We cannot allow our brothers to die in vain! Are you with me?” The formation rang out; I joined them. We beat our gladii against our shields viciously. Even in my fear, Maximus’s words were undeniable; the fire in his voice burned our very souls.
“Men, we are marching on Burdigala. They will receive that which they have given us! And we will make the world know that treachery to Rome will not go unpunished! This will serve as a warning to all others who defy us. So I ask again: are you with me?” We erupted—all four legions united under the cohort flags that lined the parade field. “Then Rome will never fall!”
He saluted and we returned it, offering up chants to Mars. It was time for war.
THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY I FOUND, I approached Maximus. I asked Centurion Tremellius for permission to address the commander, and he reluctantly agreed, saying only that I had better have my things ready with the rest of the Mules by the time of departure.
“We have no reason to believe that the Burdigalans were involved in the attack on the Romans there!” one of Maximus’s legates hollered as I entered. Maximus exhaled impatiently and rubbed his eyes.
“Then how do you explain the fact that the gates were left open to Rome’s enemies? The entire Roman garrison was either butchered or captured, and the citizens of the city were completely unharmed.”
“The mercy of the Tigurini should not be mistaken for complicity,” the legate said, causing Maximus to burst into a hopeless laughter.
“The Tigurini have no mercy. Them or any other Red. They butcher anything with a heartbeat unless they have something to gain from abstaining.” Maximus seemed exasperated.
“To even be under suspicion of treason demands reprisal,” another legate spoke up.
“By the gods, thank you.” Maximus finally smiled.
I spotted my brother in the back of the tent, among a few other prefects. They stood behind their respective legates, their direct superiors.
“Permission to speak, Consul?” Titus stepped forward, his eyes fixed and stern.
“Speak freely,” Maximus answered before Titus’s legate could.
“I believe that this could be a dangerous move so early in the campaign. These men are not ready for a battle of this scale. The recruits are green, and the veterans are out of shape and undisciplined. I’m afraid of how either group of soldiers will react when put to the test.”
I still remained at attention in the entrance, waiting to be invited forth.
“I agree with you, Prefect,” Maximus said, his pointer finger on his lips. “I do. You are as smart as I’ve heard you are tough, but unfortunately I cannot call off these orders.”
“Permission to ask your true intentions, Consul?” Titus went on. Some of the other prefects squirmed, but Titus was always bold in the face of authority. Maximus turned to Titus’s legate and smiled.
“He’s a smart one. You need to keep him around. My true intentions are this: to set the precedent early for what the remainder of this year will be like. There will be bloodshed, there will be sleepless nights and extra guard duties, long marches over perilous land. I want to weed out the weak from the beginning and establish the tone from the start: I am not like their previous commanders. I am not here to milk my province dry, sit on my riches, and allow Roman soldiers to sit around getting drunk. Soldiers fight, and that is what we’ll do. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how much strategic benefit there is in taking Burdigala, but I can tell you it will be a moral victory. These four legions obviously have no love for each other.
A victory will bond them together. You say that the recruits are green? They won’t be after they’ve taken their first life. The others are undisciplined? Fear makes all men disciplined.”
“Very well, Consul.” Titus stepped back into the shadows.
“But perhaps your enlightened brother could add something to our debate?” Maximus smiled and beckoned me forward. “How do the men fare?”
I tried to remain calm, though it was difficult with all the officers watching me and no doubt wondering why a Mule was directly approaching the consul.
“They are content, Consul, although they complain about the degree to which they are expected to maintain their gear.” Maximus’s contagious laugh rang out.
“Excellent. They hate it now, but after experiencing warfare, cleaning their gear will be a sweet safe haven, a calming interim amidst the uproar. And it will remind them of their discipline when they need it most. Anything else?”
“No, Consul. Altogether the men are doing well, morale is high, and we are ready for battle.” I was mostly being honest.
“Good. Thank you. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Sir, when we attack Burdigala, how will we be breaching the walls?” I felt the room empty of breath as all eyes fixed on me.
“I have no intention of taking the time to construct siege equipment, so we will be using ladders.”
“I’d like to be the first to scale the walls.”
Maximus leaned back and grinned. “So this is how you desire to prove yourself?” he said, almost to himself, nodding. “I admire your courage, young Sertorius, but what you ask is perilous. Every man who scales the walls of an enemy city first receives a military crown, but so many die in the process we rarely have the opportunity to give them out. Are you sure this is a risk you wish to take?”
“Yes, Consul. I’ve made up my mind.” I couldn’t see Titus from my position but I knew he was unhappy. I could feel his glare.
The Man With Two Names Page 18
