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

by Vincent B Davis II

  “I won’t let that happen,” Andromache said, and I felt her hand brushing through my hair. They were as rough and callused as a man’s, but gentle and tender nonetheless.

  “I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop it, my lady,” I said, briefly fading between worlds again.

  “At least he still has his mind,” the doctor said.

  “Are the leeches not working?” I asked.

  “They’re eating away the dead flesh as they ought. Hungry little buggers,” the doctor said. “But we won’t know for a few days if they’ve cleared away what’s ailing you.”

  I released all the tension in my body and looked up at the crumbling ceiling of whatever Spartan building I was in. I always imagined dying would be more… interesting. I’d always secretly hoped I would be the first of my companions to go. Not for contempt of life, but for the love of my friends. Death had been a part of me since my mother and father died before I could even shave. Yet I couldn’t lose Sertorius and the twins. I knew it’d break me.

  Sertorius would suffer the most. He’d blame himself… my heart hurt for him. I ached as I recalled the words I last spoke to him. No one on Gaia’s earth was ever a truer friend or more dutiful companion. What a fool I’d been. I hoped he’d be able to forget me in time, ignore the empty promises of wine, and enjoy his family as he ought.

  “Is there anything we can do, Diodorus?” Andromache asked. “Anything we can do to save him?”

  “If we cut off his arm we’d increase his odds exponentially, but even then it’s not—”

  “Do it,” I heard myself say.

  They became silent and looked down on me.

  “You soldiers tend to value your extremities,” the doctor said.

  “It serves no purpose to me if I’m dead.” I managed to open my eyes and look at him to ensure he understood I was of clear mind. He looked to Andromache.

  “Lucius,” she struggled to say, “how will you fight and—”

  “There are too many words left unspoken to allow myself to die without a fight. To live is to fight, right?” I said. “Sacrifice. And this is my sacrifice.”

  “Bring us blade and flame,” the doctor said.

  “Please, use my sword.” I pat the gladius with my good hand.

  “You could still live, Roman,” Andromache said, holding onto me tighter.

  “And I could still die if I do this.” I craned my head to look back at her. “But we must try.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Do it,” she told the Greek man.

  The cracking of a flame appeared close to me, the warmth comforting on my sweating but freezing skin.

  He pulled my blade from its sheath. I breathed in deep and collected my thoughts. Sertorius would tell me to accept my suffering with dignity. At least I could honor him in this way.

  I felt them tie a band beneath my shoulder, and they whispered to each other about holding me down.

  “Give me something to bite on,” I said. “And I won’t fight you.” I spoke with confidence as if I knew, but the fever made me feel very assured. I wanted to live but dying in Andromache’s embrace wasn’t the worst the Fates could have in store for me.

  They placed a wooden peg within my teeth and I felt more gatherers huddling around me, their hands grabbing on to my legs and shoulders.

  The doctor raised my blade.

  My eyes shot open. Spit out the peg. Shouted, , “Hold!” I looked over my shoulder and found Andromache’s eyes. “I’ve lived my whole life as a coward, unable to say what I truly ought. I won’t die that way. Andromache, I love you.” I waited for her to laugh or gasp, but she did neither. “I know you have no need of a man, but perhaps you might enjoy one... I don’t mean… well…” My mind faded again until I realized what I was saying and snapped to. “If I don’t survive, I wanted you to know. From the moment I saw you, too… the stuff of myth.” My voice faded. “And if I don’t… then perhaps we could…” My mind played out all the different endings to that sentence I might have mustered, but I spoke none of them.

  Instead a deep, searing pain developed in the arm I so recently couldn’t feel. I bit hard on that wooden peg and screamed through it. My eyes fluttered and I could see nothing. I felt heat like I imagined one might in Hephaestus’ forge, and I smelled roasting flesh.

  Then I saw the green fields again, and I ran along with my friends some more.

  Scroll XXV

  Quintus Sertorius

  Their armor smelt awful. But what could one expect from something stripped from those who’d just voided their bowels, bladder, and life blood?

  The forward contingent and I marched the way we imagined our living enemy had before we dispatched them. We found their drums and gave them to our bugle players as if they’d know the proper rhythm.

  I couldn’t imagine we looked like the highly-trained, proficient rebels we’d just fought. Fortunately, we’d had several miles to perfect it before we reached the enemy camp. We had it as good as we ever would, but it still wasn’t great. I could only hope those waiting within Plataea were too drunk on wine and victory to notice.

  “This armor is chafing me,” one of the legionaries said behind me.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  I heard someone empty their stomach behind me.

  “Finally, something more pleasant to smell than their armor,” another said.

  “Quiet. All of you,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the fortification in the distance.

  They must have been strong men, our foe. Those spears were difficult to balance properly, for their length.

  I said, “You know your orders?”

  “Pretend to be ravenous, treasonous bastards.”

  “I think we can manage that,” another legionary said and his companions laughed.

  “We attack on my orders,” I said, “and keep the gates open until our legionaries arrive.”

  It sounded more foolish when I said it aloud than in my head. At the very least, we would be a distraction until Didius arrived over the hill with the bulk of our forces. Whether this was stupidity or bravery, no one could say for certain. The newsreaders in Rome would decide based on our success.

  The cheering began as soon as we could see their fortifications in the distance. Horns blew but the rapturous cries still overcame them. It must have been exhilarating to think you’d won a battle against the Roman forces who oppressed you. If only they knew.

  “March like you just defeated the world’s greatest military force, boys,” I said.

  “Perhaps we did.”

  They laughed, but I knew they wouldn’t be laughing long. None of us would.

  The cheering intensified the nearer we drew. The men marched with swagger as if we were actually returning heroes rather than wolves in sheep’s clothing.

  Their fortification was not made of walls but of logs sharpened to a point and facing out. Cavalry would be useless here, but we had little left. There was something of a spiked gate at the center, and their guards pulled long ropes to part it.

  We marched to the arrhythmic beat, thinning out to enter the gates properly. I swore under my breath, hoping we’d had the formation spaced properly. If we hadn’t, the rebels didn’t seem to notice.

  I remained fixed forward, but my eyes darted back and forth beneath the shadow of my Corinthian helmet. I tried to get a sense of their numbers. There were plenty of them, but I was unafraid. What concerned me was the women and children I spotted spread out amongst them.

  That wasn’t part of our plan.

  When the drums stopped and I called us to a halt, the rebels within rushed to shower us with flower pedals and grain seeds.

  If there was some way for me to call it off now, I would’ve. But there was nothing to be done.

  Victory or death—the only two paths left open to us.

  A man in white robes and a golden breast plate approached from before us, his arms outstretched and a smile on his face. “Victory, my brothers,” he said. “Greece is one step clos
er to liberation!”

  So, this was the Archon. I knew it the moment I saw him. If I was attempting to play the role of an antiquated Greek magistracy, I’d have worn the same thing. His hair was grey and his face chiseled like a statue. Perhaps he already imagined himself as one.

  I broke from the formation and felt calmer when I did. Death waits for no man. That’s what my father said. If this was it, I’d not go without achieving what we set out to do.

  A buccina sounded. That was the signal. Didius would be charging forward with the bulk of our forces. I turned to ensure our men still blocked the gate. They did.

  The Archon was still grinning when he approached. He leaned in to kiss my cheek, but I thrust my spear into his belly instead.

  I roared like a Carthiginian lion and weighed down the end until he rose into the air, his intestines spilling out freely. “Attack!” I shouted.

  The men dropped their spears and brandished their swords, splitting in every way to meet the closest assailants. None of them had to go far. There were enemies on all sides of us.

  I dropped the Archon and he crumbled to the ground twitching like a headless chicken. Cerberus would be howling less now. I pulled out my sword, river water still dripping from the tip.

  My eye darted all about, my mind trying to decide what was relevant. Women and children were screeching like harpies, running about in a blur. I stepped back into line with my rounded Greek shield hoisted in front of me as indigent rebels rushed from all sides.

  Their haste was their downfall. The first raised his xiphos and left his body exposed to my thirsty gladius. His chest split. I made out his cries even in the tumult. I managed to block a club strike from my left, my arm throbbing more than ever. The deflection gave me just enough time to cleave through the man’s exposed chest. He convulsed and fell underneath the stomping feet of his companions.

  I placed my blade in the divot along the top of the Greek shield, comforted by the presence of the men on either side of me. “Let’s end this here, Romans!” I bellowed as I ducked underneath my shield to impede the next assailant.

  Our bugles played, and I’d never been so relieved to hear war’s call. Didius was arriving. I stabbed through the belly of the man before me and turned to find our legions pouring through the open gate behind us.

  I exhaled with relief again. Defeat and death were part of war, but for it to happen as a result of my “plan” was something I’d like to avoid at all costs. They say Fortuna favors the bold; otherwise I might not have spoken about such reckless plans.

  A two-handed axe wielded by a beast of a man cleaved my shield from my grasp.

  “Legate!” some of the men shouted.

  My head whipped against my shield as I crashed into the ground. I tasted the iron of blood and felt the jagged tip of a broken tooth.

  A shadow descending over me. As if the gods stole my will and controlled me themselves I rolled without considering it. The axe cleaved the earth where I’d been, clumps of dirt bursting up like sparks from a fire. I didn’t hesitate. My head still hazy and my ears ringing, my blade ripped through the man’s leg.

  For a moment he stood still and I imagined I was dreaming. But then the slit appeared beneath the knee, and he cried out as he fell forward and the rest of his leg went the other way.

  I stood and plunged my sword through his burley chest. His dark, warrior eyes still raged as the blood spilled over his lips and his grip around my arms fell limp.

  The men rushed around me, their shields forming a barrier like our fortifications outside Athens. I’d never been so proud of these recruits. I dared not say it, but the nod I extended to them as I struggled to my feet was enough. They knew what I meant.

  “Roma sovereign, Roma victrix!” I heard Didius’ voice faint in the distance.

  I felt pride then. I hoped he was proud of me. I prayed he’d accept me now, even if I didn’t know why I cared. I straightened and let out a war cry that was echoed by all my men. Those that railed against us stood no chance now. Mars had descended upon us. “For your Republic, for your families!” I roared. “For your brothers, and your ancestors!”

  They fought like wild dogs. No… like Romans. If there was quarter to be given, we might have given it to hasten the end of battle. But there was none. They couldn’t escape without passing through both our pseudo-Greek army and our legionaries. They knew they couldn’t, so they fought to a respectable death as best as traitors can.

  Didius—bold and inspiring as I’d always hoped he’d be—rushed to the center of the Plataea fortifications when the rebels were defeated and scrambling. “Legions of Rome!” he said, smiling with blood on his pearl-white teeth, his eyes stark white against the scarlet drenching his face. “We have won a great victory!”

  The men let back their heads and roared with abandon.

  “Now let’s secure it!” he said. “Kill them all! Every man, woman, and child!”

  The smile dropped from my face as the men broke from their ranks and took off in a frenzy. I lowered my head. Is this what we fought for?

  When I looked up, everyone around me was gone, left for their plunder. I sheathed my sword and crashed to my knees on the earth of Plataea. I pulled the Greek helmet from my head. I was sweating and itching awfully. I’d never wanted to sleep so bad in my life.

  Pain was pulsating from my left arm throughout my entire body. Still no cause presented itself.

  Screams echoed around me, but I kept my eyes on Plataea’s soil.

  I stayed there for some time. There’s no telling how long. I didn’t want to look up and see legionaries I respected doing something I abhorred. But they’d been given orders, after all. Just like I’d given orders after the attack on Athens.

  I wondered how my father would have acted. I saw his face, his dark hair and the stubble of his beard. I heard the whisper of his voice, repeating maxims of Stoic philosophy, of how a man should live and conduct himself, even in moments like this. He’d served in the legions. Was he ever in a moment like this? How did he conduct himself then, if he was?

  Interrupting my thoughts was a singular cry. It cut through all the noise. As if everything else faded to silence I only heard one voice, and it was one I was familiar with.

  Castor.

  I sprang to my feet and charged toward it, brandishing my sword again whether I’d need it or not.

  There was a sunbaked mud hut toward the back of the camp. As if Mercury himself guided me, I knew where to go.

  When I entered I found two legionaries restraining him, grins on their faces. Another had a dark-skinned woman pushed over a table with some of her tunic ripped off and the rest of it bunched up to her belly.

  “Stop,” I said. My grip tightened.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Castor cried.

  “Shut up, pig boy,” one of the legionaries shouted.

  The Roman standing over the woman turned to me with a twisted grin.

  “We have orders don’t we, legate?”

  “I’m giving you orders to desist,” I said. “Now.”

  The three legionaries looked to each other. They weren’t men I knew, and they were emboldened by that fact.

  The legionary who was to be first in the deplorable act readjusted himself and turned to me. “She’s a whore, see? Her husband was a traitor,” he said. “A rebel. A dog. This is what happens to the women of such men. Surely you know that. Right, legate?”

  I stole a glance at the woman. She was eastern, Parthian perhaps. She must have come back with one of the mercenaries.

  But her eyes contained the same fear as any cornered human I’d ever know. I noticed the small boy in the corner. He was crouched behind a wooden table. His mother’s eyes locked on him and her head was shaking. He wasn’t properly concealed, but the lust of my legionaries had obscured their awareness.

  “She did as any good woman might. She followed her husband where he went,” I said. “Now stand down.”

  “Want her for yourself, legate?” one of
the men holding Castor said. “I can’t blame you. She’s a tasty piece. I’d fault you for being greedy if I thought you didn’t deserve it.”

  I stole a glance at Castor, whose eyes were wet and fixed on the sobbing woman.

  A cruel world it was that a boy like Castor was forced to see such things.

  I pushed away the thought before I hurt these men more than I ought. “Step away,” I said. “Now. Get out of here, or I will hurt you.”

  They released Castor and approached me. One of them shook his head and clicked his tongue.

  “That’s not very Roman of you, Legate,” he said. “Should we tell the Proconsul you’re disobeying his orders?”

  “You can tell him what you’d like,” I said, pretending that threat didn’t worry me. “But if you continue to disobey me, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  They looked at one another with mock fright, but I saw sweat develop on their foreheads.

  Castor, now freed, rushed to the woman. She fought him as if he was an assailant like the rest, but he quickly covered her up with his scarlet cloak.

  I watched their eyes bounce from my face to my sword. I knew they were balancing their options.

  The woman’s face looked eerily like Kirrha’s then. I shook my head slightly to break the image, but the feeling in my chest remained.

  “Go on then.” I heard the Pythia’s words then, Who now greets me? The one covered in the blood of his countrymen. But it didn’t disturb me. If that’s what she meant I’d gladly fulfill my destiny.

  They tried to laugh, but there was uncertainty in their eyes. If they felt confident they could kill me, I believe they would’ve. But I stood resolute, my jaw flexing and my sword arm ready to strike. If my status as legate wasn’t enough to stay their arm, my superior fighting skill was.

  “We hear you, sir. We’ll be going on then,” the calmest of them said, tugging at his friends to avoid a confrontation.

  When they were gone, I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in.

  “Can you speak Greek?” I asked the woman. Reluctantly she nodded. I looked to Castor. Eventually he looked at me. “We’re going to get you and your son out of here.”