The Man With Two Names

by Vincent B Davis II

  We searched for some time, frantically, and it was a difficult task in that sea of corpses, Roman and otherwise. Finally we spotted him. He didn’t really look like anyone we knew, but we were certain. It was Bear. We gathered around him.

  “Bear, Bear!” we shouted as he raised a fist.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said over and over again, but we could see dark blood pooling in the corners of his lips. We searched for the wound and at first found nothing. Foolish relief rushed over us for a split second, until we saw that his shield was propped up over his torso. Slowly, Pilate leaned forward and pulled back the shield, revealing the broken end of a javelin wedged into Bear’s stomach, blood and tissue spilling out around it. “Wait, is it bad? Is it bad?” he asked, squirming.

  His teeth began to chatter as if he were freezing. Blood spilled over his chin like a broken fountain with each breath. We tried to restrain him, as gently as we could, but he kept trying to feel of the wound and the javelin.

  “Bear, stop! Stop!” We knew he couldn’t remove the spear. We didn’t want to see what would happen. Finally, we forced him to lie back.

  “Oh gods, am I going to die?” he asked, his wet eyes frantically searching for hope in each one of us.

  “No, no, Bear! We’re going to get you to a medicus and they’re going to patch you right up. You’ll be back in the ranks within a few weeks.” Ax pulled Bear’s face toward him and nodded comfortingly.

  “You’ll be just fine, pal,” Grumble said, taking hold of one of his hands.

  “We aren’t going to let anything happen to you.” My voice shook. Flamen knelt behind us and prayed. Terence tried to hide the tears on his face.

  Bear wasn’t convinced. He shook violently and a groan came from deep in his chest.

  “Bear, Bear …” Basilus stepped forward and took one of his hands between both his own. “Look at me… . Look at me… .” he said, his voice calm and soft.

  “Okay,” Bear managed.

  “You are going to die.” Bear seemed to soften at first, but eventually he began to weep. Our hearts broke.

  “What? I can’t die. I can’t… .”

  “No, Bear, look at me. Look in my eyes. It’s okay.” He pulled Bear’s hand to his chest. “It’s all right. You are going to die, but you aren’t going to die alone. We’re here with you.” We all stepped to him and placed a hand somewhere on him, one by one.

  “I … I ca— I can’t …”

  “Shh, it’s okay. Tell me, who do you love the most?” Bear thought about it for a moment, a soft breath lifting up from his chest.

  “My mama… . My mama… .”

  “Think of her. Remember what your mother looks like. Let go of everything you don’t want to take with you. Think of better times. Think of your home now.” Bear looked up at the sky. His legs squirmed beneath our fingers, but he was calm. He convulsed a few times, and his breaths became forced and infrequent. “Just let go. Relax your limbs. Feel the warmth in your fingers and toes? Do you see all those nice colors?”

  Bear nodded. He kept his eyes fixed above him on the sky, until he tried to say something. He whispered. His lips moved with the last thing he wanted to tell us. He fixed his eyes on Basilus. And he just … stopped. Nothing changed, but we knew. Basilus lowered his head and closed Bear’s eyes with the palm of his hand.

  “Oh … gods.” Terence moaned from beside me. Ax leaned back and clutched his face, rocking slowly back and forth.

  “Shit …” Grumble said, biting one of his knuckles and closing his eyes.

  “Until Elysium, brother,” added Flamen.

  “Hadn’t even been with a damned woman,” Pilate managed to say.

  “He was … the best,” Ax added. I wiped a tear from my eye and pulled a coin from my belt. I slid it between his lips, a token for the ferryman to see him safely into the afterlife.

  “We’ll miss you, kid,” Basilus said, patting Bear’s chest. We all wept.

  Around us, the Mules were going mad, looting and burning, like wild dogs over scraps of meat. We heard shouts that the gold had been found and that the Tolosan treasury made King Midas look like a proletarian. The city was ours to take and do with as we liked, but we all sat there beside Bear, not knowing how to walk away or say goodbye.

  I WASN’T there to see it. I wasn’t there, but Titus was. He said the look on Caepio’s face when he first saw the temple’s gold revealed a glee that sprang from deep in his heart. He suddenly seemed less confrontational, less affected by the world or its people’s doings. It was as if Quintus Caepio had already won the war.

  I’m asked from time to time whether or not I managed to see that infamous gold, but in truth I did not. What I did see was the train of wagons that carried it off. It seemed to stretch back for miles. Titus asked Caepio why he was sending it back to Rome, if the money was for the campaign. The consul replied that he couldn’t fund the campaign with money in Gaul, but Rome’s coffers would have to do the job. The answer was never quite satisfactory to those who lost friends in that battle.

  A STRANGE THING happens to you when a peer dies. I’d watched as men took their last breaths. I had seen my father go and old Manius Hirtuleius after that. But that was different. Why? Because they were older, they had run their course. Perhaps we who were left to mourn did not think so, but it appeared that the gods deemed it to be true. They were old, and old men die. But a young man? A man even younger than myself—not six years from being a child? That was a different feeling entirely. I would say that none of us were ever really the same again.

  We didn’t speak of it, but I think we began to understand that peculiar look in Basilus’s eyes. In an instant, we became acutely aware of our own mortality, realizing it could have been us, and that our deaths could be just around the corner. Youth was no longer an adequate reason for life to be sustained.

  Life seemed absurd, random, fragile. We could have died and the war would have gone on as if we’d never been there. It was like watching a gambler roll a die, waiting to see what might come—or in our case, who Pluto would call to the underworld next. For the first time in my life, I wondered if the gods were truly guiding us, or if it was all simply luck in the end.

  After we burned the bodies of our men, we returned to camp. When I saw Arrea, I tried to speak, but could find no words. My eyes were wet and my throat dry. I knelt at her feet and placed my head in her lap. She tried to comfort me.

  “Everything is okay now. You are safe. You are safe now.” Her fingers were soft and delicate as she ran them through my hair; she tried to calm me in the same way we had tried to calm Bear.

  I wanted to tell her everything that had happened and all the things I now understood about war. About life. About death. But I couldn’t. I just said again and again that it was awful. She seemed to understand.

  She continued to hold me as she went about examining my wounds, which had reopened during the conflict and were bleeding again. She patched me up and dabbed a cool cloth against my head, squeezing my fingers until the trembling began to slow. She helped—she truly did—but I’m not sure that tremble has ever really gone away, even to this day.

  YOU EXPERIENCE war differently from this perspective, being on the front lines and holding a gladius.

  It was a great victory! I’m sure all the newsreaders were shouting in Rome. I’m certain that all the crowds would gasp in awe that a city as large as Tolosa was taken with so few casualties. But they didn’t understand how much we had really lost. They didn’t know those men. They didn’t know Bear.

  WE LEFT Tolosa three days later. Back out into the wilderness.

  This further cemented the grief in our hearts.

  Caepio had his gold, but we had nothing to show for our experience, save fresh scars and holes in our ranks. We received word within a week that Maximus had left Burdigala as well, leaving behind a small garrison to keep our new settlement from rebelling against us. Both forces would soon be in Cisalpine Gaul, not a day’s march from one anot
her. But we wouldn’t meet. We wouldn’t see them again until battle with the Reds was imminent.

  SCROLL XXII

  Events slowed down. Our hearts did not. News reached us every day of the Cimbri advance. We received frequent false reports that the Reds were on our doorstep, but all our intelligence confirmed that our enemy was getting closer. We marched at a slower pace, in a hurry to get nowhere, waiting only to see our enemies’ plans unravel. We moved south, passing within view of our deconstructed camp outside Narbo where I’d been reunited with Titus.

  We continued to move, but Caepio had no intention of hurrying. He had his prize. It wasn’t the money. How could a man like Caepio ever care for riches? He’d never wanted for anything in his life. He had no need to horde up a fortune for himself. Rather, he had won himself glory. He knew that people would cheer when his vast sums of stolen gold arrived in Rome and allowed the city to feast, to believe that more prosperous times were at hand. He had his victory. There was a glint in his eye. And he didn’t feel the need to subjugate my brother or me any longer; he mostly ignored us, allowing us to live in his ranks as long as we weren’t insubordinate.

  But fate has a habit of changing things just when men feel assured of destiny’s outcome. The fickle nature of the gods is the subject of both comic and tragic plays alike.

  We had made our camp just west of the Gallic town Arelate. Having made nearly a full circle through Gaul, we’d returned to the more familiar side of the country. Caepio seemed to have run out of places to march us, so we set up camp, and this time didn’t deconstruct it the next day.

  We listened to the reports of our scouts—both of the Reds’ advance and the movements of our allies under Maximus. We were all tense. The tightness in the shoulders, the perpetual headaches. We could hear the noise of the war rumbling somewhere in our futures, and waiting for it was exhausting. I was always on the verge of vomiting. I lost my appetite and the will to shine my gear to perfection. We simply waited.

  After a week went by, Caepio ordered all of the centurions to a briefing led by himself, Sextus Caesar and a few other legates, and a few prefects. We already knew the sort of thing we would hear: prepare your men, prepare yourselves, war is at hand … but we all attended as instructed and did what we could to sift through the repetitive information for any real intelligence.

  It was here that the rumbling began. It started with the opening of the gates, distant Mules shouting. The galloping of a lone horse. Most of the Centurions, myself included, craned our necks to catch sight of the commotion. Caepio and the others tried to ignore it and continue the briefing.

  The lone horseman cut through our ranks, straight for Caepio. I caught just a glimpse of him behind the helmets of my comrades. The rider was covered in dust from a hard journey; he was sunburned and crossed with minor wounds. He was Roman but bore no shield or helmet. I couldn’t even distinguish his rank.

  A prefect stepped forward and demanded to know what was happening. The soldier replied in a hushed voice, and the prefect stepped grimly aside, allowing the Roman to address Caepio.

  “What on Gaia’s earth is the meaning of this?” Caepio demanded.

  “General Caepio, the gold has been captured.” The man held his arms akimbo and tried to catch his breath, forgetting all military bearing.

  Caepio cleared his throat and looked back in disbelief. “What?”

  “Our century was attacked en route to Rome. All our men were butchered and the wagons seized. I have no idea what became of it.” My heart dropped. There was silence among the small formation and the Mules gathering around us.

  Popular rumor suggests that Caepio ordered the hijacking himself and had cut a deal with some rebel tribe to stow away a portion of the riches for his own use. But I can say from firsthand experience that if that were true, then Caepio was the most brilliant actor of his time.

  I have never, to this day, seen a proud man brought so low. The voice that had always been so confident, quavered now. His eyes darted back and forth, and his lips trembled. His legs seemed to buckle and he fell into Tribune Reginus, who steadied him.

  “No.” Only the utter silence of the camp made Caepio audible. And then, just as we believed the consul might collapse, rage passed over his eyes. “And what have you to say for yourself? How did you survive?” The man began to explain, but Caepio screamed, “Arrest him! Have him tried for treason! Desertion!” His fury rang out around the camp. As the soldier was apprehended, Caepio cursed the man with his left hand. Reginus and another tribune tried to restrain him, and he struggled against them but eventually gave up. As he went slack, so too did the grip on his arms. He grabbed his helm from his aide and without another word walked slowly from the formation.

  NOW IT WAS Caepio’s turn to wait, and he did so … constantly. He was like a shade in Hades watching for his opportunity to return to earth. Whenever Caepio addressed the men or gave orders, he seemed distracted, despondent. He was on edge, but never fully aware. On the few occasions he addressed my brother or me, he seemed to have forgotten who we were altogether. We were treated, like many others I assume, with apathy. A general lack of concern. The stubble of his beard grew, and the bags under his eyes turned gray. He was never the same again. And I can say with assurance that if that gold had reached Rome, what happened next would have never come to pass.

  A WEEK or so went by without any instructions from Caepio. We were left without orders, as idle as a log in still waters. So I waited all day and lay awake all night.

  Every night I would hold Arrea in my arms and stare off, thinking about the Reds, about Nursia, about Bear. I would watch her occasionally, as she nestled up to me in a deep slumber. She made me smile. I would rub my fingers over the skin of her shoulder, and it sent warmth up my arms to my heart. She had come down with a cold, and I found myself laughing whenever she snored. Such a beautiful creature omitting such a noise was enough to break me from my contemplation. I would hold her closer still and try to rest before my thoughts returned to me, and I’d lie patiently until morning light and another formation.

  It was during one of these nights that word finally arrived of the Cimbri location. From what I understand, no one took it seriously at first—given that we’d already received so many false reports. But at some point during the night, Caepio’s scouts verified the situation: the Cimbri were indeed within just a few miles, setting up camp just outside of Arausio.

  I learned of this when Ax entered my tent before first light.

  “Stallion! Wake up!” he hissed. Fortunately I was not really asleep.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I stirred, sensing that something different must be happening. I began to hear Mules rumbling outside the tent, receiving the same news as I.

  “The Reds are finally here. It’s almost time. We’ve been put on standby.” I assumed he must have been on guard duty, because he was already in full kit.

  “I’ll be right out.” Though I hurried, I stole a moment to kiss Arrea on the cheek.

  The legions were suddenly alive. I could see in the darkness that the men were already oiling their shields and helmets. The nervous chatter had begun, the trembling hands, the tapping feet.

  “Stallion,” my men addressed me. I asked how they were feeling and made sure they had everything they needed.

  There was a briefing at this time, for the higher officers. Centurions like myself were not invited, but when it was concluded Titus sought me out.

  “Brother,” he said, shaking my hand. His tone was serious, filled with anticipation.

  “So this is it?” I asked. My men gathered to listen.

  “This is it. They’re really here. I just left the consul’s tent. The battle could begin at any time.”

  “What was the final decision? What are we going to do right now?” I was desperate for something definite. Titus took his time replying.

  “Caepio was invigorated when he heard the news, like a spirit entered him… . He was mad, even. He rambled about how the
gods had brought the Reds to us. He said they had placed themselves directly between our forces and Maximus’s. He believed they’ve guaranteed their own destructions. We would have been marching out to meet them presently if we hadn’t been able to dissuade him. We managed to get him to send word to Maximus first. A dispatch has already been sent, and as soon as we have communication between the two forces, battle could begin.”

  “Today even?”

  “Yes. Today.” He grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. “Are you ready? Are all of you men ready?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “To Mars then. I need to be getting back to Caepio.” Titus gave me an uncharacteristic hug. “I’ll see you again before everything starts. That’s my word.”

  As soon as he left, I spun on my heels and ran without restraint for my tent. There was only one thing on my mind.

  “Arrea. Arrea, sweet girl, you have to wake up,” I cried as I barged in, and she burst from her sleep.

  “What? What is it? Is everything all right?” she demanded to know. I was already gathering up her few possessions and slamming them haphazardly into one of my bags.

  “You have to leave. The Cimbri are in the area. They are here and battle is upon us.”

  “Quintus!” She strode toward me and tried to impede my progress. “We’ve already discussed this! I am not leaving you!”

  “I will not be dissuaded this time, Arrea,” I said in a soft voice, fixed on the task at hand.

  “I told you that I am not leaving!”

  I dropped the bag and turned to her. I grabbed her by the elbows, tenderly I hope, and pulled her into me.

  “Arrea! I don’t need you here to die with me! Because I am not going to die!” I was breathing heavy. “I am not going to die. But I need to know that you are safe. And I will come for you.” Before she could respond, I pulled her in close and kissed her. I held her there for this one moment, this moment that seemed to last forever, but still not long enough. The smell of her hair, the taste of her breath. It was something to fight for. When I pulled away I grabbed a scroll with my centurion’s seal on it. The contents were unimportant. “Go to Arelate. Wait for me there, and take this scroll with you. If anyone attempts to harm you, let them know that a Roman centurion will find them and bring with him all the wrath of the Furies.”