Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4)

by Vincent B Davis II

  I stood and composed myself. I said a final prayer for protection over my family and tightened my grip around my pugio dagger.

  They let out war cries as their frightened horses jerked back and forth. I raised the dagger and let it fly.

  Rather than taking out the rider I aimed for, they all dropped. Horses flipped and riders flailed to their deaths in a storm of pila. I turned quickly to find Herennius standing there, bloody but smiling.

  “Take heart, legate! The gods still watch over you!”

  The men were exultant, as if we’d won the war and Plataea was already ours. While they cheered and sang songs, I searched for Ajax.

  He was on his side, a spear lanced clean through one of his haunches. He was neighing in agony, struggling with all his incredible strength to stand. He quieted when I crouched beside him. His large, longing, wet eyes searched my face for comfort.

  I ran my blood-soaked hands over his head. “It’s all right, boy.” I took off my helmet and sat beside him.

  He laid his head in my lap.

  I exhaled and stroked behind his ears. “I did not know you long, Ajax. But you can tell Neptune or whatever awaits you that you died with a friend. And you died bravely.” I held the young stallion until the current carried away the last of his lifeblood. I whispered, “Thank you.”

  Didius spotted me from a distance and came running when I stood. “My boy!” He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed my cheek. “You’ve more schemes in that head of yours than even I knew. Well done!”

  Blood from my nose dripped onto his cheek, but he already wore plenty of his own.

  “It was your leadership, commander—”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it. If I hadn’t already given you the grass crown, perhaps I’d give you one now. If I gave you two, though, all of Rome would think I favored you as a lover!” He burst out laughing, joyful and manic in a way I’d not seen him.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He grabbed my neck, not knowing how bad it was hurting me, and kissed me again on the cheek. “We set out on this voyage together with the shared goal of a triumph. By the gods, we’ve earned it now!”

  I nodded, although we both likely knew a triumph was never my desire.

  Castor joined us, his eyes curiously and emotionlessly watching the bodies being dragged from the water around us. He didn’t look sad or conflicted. Only empty.

  I grabbed his arm. “You did well today, Castor.”

  He looked up—almost like he didn’t know me—his mind elsewhere. “Thank you, legate.”

  “We still have to take Plataea,” Herennius spoke sense, sheathing his blade.

  “Yes, yes… of course. Onwards and upwards and so forth,” Didius said, unable to stop smiling or take his eyes off me.

  “We lost some good men,” I reminded him.

  He nodded, his mood only slightly affected. “Yes. But we still have the best of us.”

  Herennius and I exchanged a look, and I lowered my gaze.

  Didius peered over my shoulder. “It looks like you’ll be needing a new horse. We’ll find one with a fallen rider. The best in the legion!”

  “Actually, sir,” I said. “I have another plan for how we take Plataea. And if we utilize it, I won’t be needing a horse.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not foolish enough to refuse you now.” He slapped my shoulder and returned to celebrating with his legion.

  I hung my head. I wasn’t sure he’d like this plan, though. And I didn’t like it either.

  Scroll XXIV

  Spurius Insteius

  My feet bled not from the battle but from running. My legs were swollen and throbbing, my back aching and my arms too sore to move properly. My lungs felt like they were full of sand, each breath of the cool night air stung.

  “Here, let me take him,” Aulus said.

  I passed Lucius onto my brother’s shoulders, and they promptly continued running as I collapsed. This couldn’t be how it all ended. As I lay there in a Lakonian field of poppies, I thought about our speech before the battle. Death seemed so courageous then, so easy to accept. So glorious. But watching Lucius slowly die since the moment we began our retreat stripped away the illusion. This couldn’t be how it all ended. I ignored my body’s groaning and rolled over and pushed myself up.

  “Come, Roman, we’re almost there,” Andromache said, helping me to my feet.

  What remained of our legion split off for our camp outside the city, to prepare for whatever came next and to heal the wounded. Andromache, however, insisted we get Lucius back to Sparta, where the best doctors in Greece could tend to his wound.

  Despite the stories she told us of their medical prowess, I was beginning to doubt even the gods could save Lucius now. If there had ever been a tougher or more robust man than Lucius, I’ve not met him. He was the symbol of health and virility, eating and drinking only what fueled his body for warfare. How could a single arrow—to the arm no less—be the end of him?

  At first we believed he was simply overcome by our tragic defeat. He could barely talk when we made camp the first night. He lay awake, sweating profusely and complaining of an unquenchable thirst.

  Andromache and I hurried to Aulus’ side, and she gratefully took Lucius onto her own shoulders.

  By the morning after the battle, he was changing for the worst. I hadn’t seen battle before, and the only death I’d witnessed was the slaughter of our sheep and fowl back in Nursia. I didn’t understand the signs, but Andromache did.

  “His body is fighting itself,” she had said as we watched the color of his skin evaporate and his limbs tremble. She demanded we find horses and get him back to Greece. But even in his haze Lucius refused to abandon his men; so instead we marched on together, resolute and unwilling to break for camp again.

  And for the past two days we ran, legs weighed down by exhaustion and dread. We might have stopped if Andromache didn’t warn us that his hours were fading.

  His breath began to smell of death. Perhaps it was just the battlefield—the stench of battle has a way of clinging to the hair in your nose—but she said this was common of battlefield injuries. Lucius’s chest heaved as his heart beat with the power and speed of Hephaestus’s hammer. His skin as pale as Nursia snow, only the wound of his arm was swollen and discolored.

  It’d been hours since he last spoke or looked up at any of us. Periodically we’d check the pulse in his neck. It was weak despite the throbbing of his heart, but he was still with us, and that was enough to beckon us on.

  Andromache moved like a woman possessed, even with Lucius on her back. Aulus and I struggled to keep up as we passed Sparta’s threshold.

  We passed underneath the giant statues of Castor and Pollux, the ancient protectors of the city. Something about that was ominous rather than comforting, but we followed on until she reached a dilapidated old temple filled with old priests either blind or dull-witted.

  Aulus said, “These are the men who will restore him?” He gasped for air.

  “Just one of them,” she said.

  She laid him down underneath an altar to Artemis Orthia.

  I knelt beside him and laid my head on his chest. His heart still beat furiously, angrily like a small boat fighting an angrier sea. His flesh put off heat like a pyre.

  “Hold on, my friend.”

  “Diodorus!” she shouted. “Diodorus, we need you!”

  Some of the mortified priests echoed the call until a small, frail, unassuming man stepped forward. Despite his unimpressive stature, his eyes shone with courage. When he saw Lucius he rushed to his side and managed to push me from his path.

  I said, “This is Lucius Hirtuleius, tribune of the—”

  “Nevermind who he is.” He turned over Lucius’ arm and inspected the wound. His eyes were grave. He lowered his head and exhaled once, deep and long, before snapping back. “I need honey, vinegar, olive oil, and mother’s milk,” he said. “Leaf bandages sown with wool. Go!” he shouted at anyon
e listening. “And soak those bandages in unwatered wine!”

  “What is happening to him?” I asked, the reality of it all flooding over me as I awoke from what felt like the fever dream of the past two days.

  “If only we had tree-nuts. Tree-nut juice would be useful.” He brandished a small iron tool and poked at the flesh around the wound, inspecting the color it left.

  Aulus said, “No, Lucius breaks out in welts anytime he touches tree-nuts. Has been since we were boys.”

  “It matters not. We don’t have the time,” Diodorus said under his breath.

  I stomped my foot to gain his attention. “I ask again: what is happening to him?”

  “The Greeks call it gangrene.”

  “What does it mean? Will he live?” I asked.

  “He won’t if he hears you sniveling like a coward,” the doctor replied. Strange to hear such words from a man his size, but it had the desired effect and I remained quiet.

  “The wound has grown infected,” Andromache answered for him. “Infection is much more lethal than an arrow.”

  “Was it poisoned?” Aulus gasped.

  “No,” the doctor said. “Now be quiet so I may think.” One of the old priests brought the requested materials. “Have we any frankincense or myrrh?” he asked.

  We shook our heads until he turned to the priests.

  The fat old priest looked stunned. “Our offerings here are for the gods.”

  Diodorus turned back to Lucius and drenched the wound in honey. “The gods would look unkindly on you if you let a supplicant die in your presence.”

  “Whether he dies or not is out of our control,” the old priest said. “It’s in the hands of the gods now.”

  Diodorus turned, his eyes flashing the kind of fury that usually belonged to a much larger man, like a dog who didn’t know his size. “Bring me the frankincense and myrrh,” he said. “Or the next time one of you fine priests is needing medical attention you might find me unavailable.”

  The priest bowed his head as if struck with a whip and hurried to oblige.

  “Diodorus, thank you. I owe you a great deal,” Andromache said, folding her hands together.

  “You already did,” he said with raised brow. “I’ll add this to my ledger.”

  She smiled but I saw her eyes shimmering when she looked down on Lucius. She felt the heat of his forehead and then ran her fingers through his dusty hair.

  “We’ll give you some space,” I said, nodding for Aulus to follow me.

  The air outside was colder and damper than before. If possible, my knees were even weaker too.

  “Aulus,” I said, “when we go back in we need to prepare our goodbyes.”

  With a burst he took hold of my breastplate and shook me, teeth grinding and veins bulging. “He would not give up on us! We cannot give up on him.”

  “I’m not giving up.” I considered my words carefully. “But if he falls, we will want him to know how much we…”

  “We’ll see him again if that’s the case.” He released me and crossed his arms. “Besides, the gods won’t let him die.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in the gods?”

  He looked at me, tears welling up, and threw his arms around my neck. “I’m glad I have you here, brother.”

  I heard shouting from the Dromos, near the statue of Herakles. When I looked up I saw the criers wore Roman armor. I placed my hands around my mouth and bellowed, “Jupiter Optimus!”

  They spotted me and charged up Sparta’s natural hills to meet us.

  “Sir.” They both saluted.

  “What is it?” Aulus said, blinking his eyes dry. “We told you to prepare the camp.”

  “Tribune, the… the scouts have returned.”

  “The rebels are on the move.”

  Aulus turned to me, and we shared a moment of acceptance. Our fates awaited us.

  “How far away?” I said, far calmer than I was inside.

  “They took only enough time to lick their wounds,” the legionary said. “They’ll be here by morning.”

  I exhaled, pausing to allow this to set in.

  “Go to the stables. Gather several carriages for the wounded to be brought to the city. The healthy must prepare themselves,” Aulus said. I was surprised to hear him so composed. I was rather expecting him to wretch and his skin to turn green as it had before.

  “Moving, sir.” They saluted and charged off.

  “Let us say our goodbyes,” Aulus said, but this time we meant it not for Lucius’ pending departure, but our own.

  When we returned Diodorus was working diligently on the wound. Andromache sat holding Lucius’ head in her lap.

  The Greek doctor looked up, his hands covered in our companion’s blood. “I have leeches in my quarters. If I could, I’d go and retrieve them, but I’m afraid he’d be traveling the river Styx by the time I return.” The doctor scratched his forehead, unaware or unconcerned by the blood he left there.

  “Andromache, the rebels have followed us,” I said.

  Aulus nodded. “They smell our blood in the water and mean to annihilate us before we can receive reinforcements from the north.”

  She took her own moment to accept this, looking down at Lucius’s still and peaceful face, combing back his brows with her thumbs.

  “We won’t need reinforcements from the north,” she said. “I’ll muster every warrior in this city. They’ll answer my call and rally in our defense.”

  “How many men?”

  “Three thousand will answer my calls. Men and women both,” she said with pride.

  “How long do you need?” I asked.

  “This requires time. The city is sleeping, unaware of what’s happening.”

  “Time is the one thing we don’t have.” I shook my head.

  Aulus placed a hand on my shoulder. He met my eyes, his own filled with resolve. “We will ride out to meet them.”

  “No, Aulus, no,” I said. “We should remain within our fortifications and—”

  “We must bide our time. If they reach the city then…” He didn’t need to finish his thought. He took hold of me and forced me to look at him. “I understand now. Why we fight, why we kill.” A single tear spilled over his eyelid. “Lo there, I see my fathers!” He smiled, with acceptance rather than mischief for once.

  I grabbed him by the neck and placed my forehead against his. “Let us go then.”

  We both knelt by Lucius.

  “If we’d had a sister, we’d have let you marry her, Lucius,” Aulus said. “Even though you are an ugly bastard.” He chuckled, more to his character. “You’re a damned good man, a good friend, and a good Roman. I’m no soldier and never will be, but it was an honor fighting alongside you.” He stood and turned away before his composure broke.

  “Lucius…” My lips quivered as I looked down on his ashen face, Diodorus continuing to work diligently. “The greatest treasure of my life… is… was… your friendship.”

  His hand slowly reached for mine, and he squeezed it. His eyes, purple rimmed, looked into mine. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to.

  I kissed his head and stood. We nodded to Andromache and she nodded back. We knew she’d take care of him if we didn’t return and weren’t likely to.

  “Let’s go,” Aulus whispered.

  We took one last look at our oldest friend and rode out to meet our fate.

  Lucius Hirtuleius

  The sensation of living between two worlds caused me both pain and awe. Sometimes I felt myself, pain radiating from my arm or an itch on my foot. Sometimes I’d wake and see a strange Greek huddled over me, and I wondered what he was about. But at least Andromache was there. Even fading I felt my stomach leap and peace reside.

  Then I’d be standing in green fields. Was it Elysium? If so, it was more beautiful than I’d imagined. But it looked a lot like Nursia. And Sertorius and the twins were there too, and I knew they still strode the land of the living.

  I saw my arms and legs and t
hey were younger than I remembered, missing all the scars I’d earned over the last decade. We’d play in a crystal blue river and Sertorius wasn’t scared of the water. There were deer there and they were friendly as dogs, kneeling by our side and chasing after the sticks we threw. My grandfather Manius was there, his arms folded but a smile on his face, watching us. My little brother Aius was there too, but he was far younger than I knew he was. It’d be so long since I’d seen him, I couldn’t imagine what he looked like now.

  As we ran and played together, fish swimming to the banks of the river to follow us, everyone I’d ever known appeared on the hillside. They watched us like a play in the forum, and when we did something spectacular, they’d clap and sing our praises. We laughed and cheered with them, but then I woke.

  “He’s waking!” Andromache’s sweet voice whispered, and it nearly put me back to sleep. I nestled my head further into her lap and basked in the rose-pedal scent of her hair.

  “If you have something to say to him, I’d say it now,” the Greek man said, or so I believed. Perhaps I knew more of their language than I gave myself credit for.

  “Can you hear me, Roman?” she said.

  “Always.” I closed my eyes but felt myself smiling.

  “You have an infection. Your body is failing. You must fight.”

  My eyes split open and I struggled against their restraint as memories of the battle flooded back to me. “No!” I shouted as more bystanders rushed to hold me down. I stopped struggling. “No…” I said, a few vivid memories of dying legionaries flashing before my eyes.

  “You took an arrow through the arm,” she said. “It has not healed well.”

  I looked over. Black black leeches were burrowing their way into a wound much larger than an arrowhead. They hadn’t been there before, and I couldn’t feel them. “Am I going to die?” I asked, surprised to find that I was at peace with whatever answer awaited me.