Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "Pullus!" Mela's voice was so laced with fear that I felt a glimmer of grim satisfaction, but I did not hesitate as I stepped across the room.

  "No!" His voice broke, sounding like a woman, which I thought was appropriate. "Wait! It wasn't my idea! It was Caecina! He…"

  Something I learned in this moment was that despite my left arm being weaker than it had been, it was still strong enough, or my rage was sufficiently powerful that when I grabbed Mela by the back of his segmentata to drag him upright, I was able to do so in such a way I heard the scrape of his feet as I lifted him bodily from the ground. Oh, it was agonizing, except it only drove me more so that I believe my rage was at its height in that moment. Then, with Mela in hand, literally, I glanced down at the girl, thinking to say something that, if not letting her know she was safe, she would at least find soothing by my tone. It was then I learned I was wrong, that I had not been as angry as I thought it possible for me to be. My eyes had adjusted just enough that I could see the girl's face sufficiently to see her eyes were open, except while they were staring up at me, they did not see me. Underneath her mouth, which was open from what I can only assume was her final scream, was what looked like an obscene imitation of her smile, except this one had no teeth and was black from the blood that spilled from her cut throat to soak the straw pallet around her head, making her pale white face stand out even more starkly.

  I had certainly heard men talking about such things, but it had always been in a joking manner, or at worst, in whispers of speculation about some other man, in some other Century or Cohort, as if none of us really took this depravity as a real possibility among anyone we knew. Yet here I was, seeing firsthand that, in fact, there were men with whom I marched who were not only capable of violating the dead in the most obscene way imaginable, I was suspending one of them in front of me.

  "You….fucked her?" I did not even recognize my own voice. "You raped this girl after you sliced her throat?"

  "I didn't do that!" To my ears, Mela's tone became even more like that of a hysterical female. "Caecina did it! He cut her throat! I just…just…."

  Because I was suspending him upright by the scruff of his neck, so to speak, he could only offer half a shrug, but I believe he was so gone with fear that he actually thought his claim that it was Caecina who had murdered this girl would stay my hand.

  "You just fucked a dead girl," I spat, but even as I said it, my sword arm was moving as I aimed the point at the one spot where he was unarmored; in fact, he had nothing to protect him since his bracae were still around his ankles and he had tucked the hem of his tunic in his baltea.

  As geldings go, it was not particularly well done, but I had not grown up on a farm, nor did I have any intention of doing it cleanly. And frankly, he was struggling wildly so the movement caused me to lose my grip on him. Falling heavily, his screams were appropriately shrill, but despite wanting him to suffer, I did not have the time, nor could I take the risk he would somehow be discovered while still breathing. Except, instead of cutting his throat, I stepped heavily on one leg, pinning it under my weight as I thrust down into his thigh at the spot where the large vessel that carries blood to the lower leg is located. Since he was clutching the remnants of his manhood, I had to plunge my sword through one of his hands, but I considered that just a bonus.

  Then, taking one last glance at the girl, I heard a voice that was a stranger to me yet I knew was mine say, "I'm sorry."

  Then I was out of the house, resuming my pursuit of Caecina.

  My best ally that night was the fire, because it reduced Caecina's possible escape routes but despite knowing this in a general sense, even I could not have anticipated how much it helped me. When I turned the corner, I had already dismissed the first street as one that someone as clever as Caecina would use, simply because it was the obvious choice. But before I had gone more than a half-dozen paces, my mind was changed for me by the fire. While it was true that the actual flames had not advanced so closely that the buildings along the farther streets were actually burning, the heat that hit me was so intense I quickly realized the possibility of Caecina enduring what I can only liken to being every bit as hot as the inside of our brick stove was extremely unlikely. I can only guess that, considering how much of a lead he had on me, Caecina had nevertheless tried to do that very thing but was forced to backtrack, much in the same way as I had when I was trying in vain to save the Varciani girl. Perhaps the gods decided to even the scales, balancing my error with one made by Caecina as part of their plan to use me to exact justice for all the evil my Sergeant had done. At least, this is what I like to think. Whatever the truth might be, even as I reached the intersection with the first street, I had almost decided that he would risk going at least one street farther along; nevertheless, I glanced to my right as I was crossing that street. There was only a fleeting shadow just turning the corner at the other end of the street, which was shorter than the one where the girl had been, but even running at close to full speed, that sight was enough and I managed to round the corner without slipping. My momentum carried me to the edge of the street, up against the buildings on the far side of the street to my left; however, I maintained enough self-possession to slow down as I neared the next corner. Additionally, I drifted back to the right, moving more toward the middle of the street and enabling me to see around the corner better. Because of this, I had the instant's warning I needed to dodge an object that Caecina hurled at me from his spot up against the left-hand wall of the next street. In much the same way one dodges a missile like javelins or arrows, my mind did not have time to react, so my body took over and I leaned to the right just enough so whatever it was went whistling by my head. Frankly, I still have no idea what it was, although from the sound it made as it passed by, I can say it was substantial and not just a pile of cac. But Caecina's tactic not only failed, it delayed him; he had only gone a half-dozen more steps, angling towards the next corner when I opened my stride and caught up with him. In retrospect, I suppose I could have used my sword and ended him right then, but I am afraid something inside me had been freed that night. It was another beast that, while it might have come from the same father as what I thought of as my divine rage, was different. Not exactly a twin, although this new monster was definitely fed and nourished by the one with which I was familiar. Consequently, even as I knew that it would hurt, my left hand shot forward, shoving him hard between the shoulder blades to send him sprawling into the muddy, filthy street. I must give him credit; although he fell heavily, he reacted quickly, trying to scramble to his feet while his hand scrabbled for the sword that had been knocked from his hand. My own momentum actually worked in my favor as I allowed one foot to drag along the ground, kicking the sword well out of his reach as I shot past before skidding to a stop a few feet away. For an instant, my back was turned to him, but the almost feral growl that issued from his throat as he threw himself at me gave me just enough warning to brace myself as I spun about. Even so, his body slammed into my midriff, the clashing sound of his iron shoulder plates hitting those around my midsection making a harsh, clashing sound that could have been heard by anyone within a hundred paces. Fortunately for me, the gods had deemed there were no eyes to witness anything that was happening. Despite the impact, I did not stagger, although I rocked backward but at the same time, I twisted my body, so that between his own momentum and this move, he slid off and went staggering past me, crashing heavily into the wall of a house on the other side of the street. Pivoting about, when Caecina came at me again, this time, I was fully set and prepared, except instead of smashing into him using my superior strength and weight, I merely made a small sidestep to my left so that he missed me completely. I, however, did not miss, but while I could have easily ended him right then, I chose not to do so; this newly roused beast within me was what kept me from dispatching him quickly. In one important sense, this different sensation I was experiencing was decidedly unlike the divine madness passed to me by Titus Pullus, because I
still retained a complete awareness of matters far outside my immediate surroundings. In short, I knew that not killing Caecina immediately posed a great risk to me and, more importantly, if he somehow survived, I most certainly would not. This awareness was unlike the feeling I had when I was gripped in the marvelous power of my rage, where the only thing that mattered in the moment was bringing death to whoever I was facing. Where it was similar, however, was that ultimately I did not care about whatever peril I was facing by prolonging this event; going further, another similarity exhibited by this newly roused beast was its insatiable appetite. Somehow, I knew I would not be satisfied by simply ending Gnaeus Caecina's life, which is why, as he went stumbling past, I waited just long enough for the bulk of his body to pass by before I performed a quick slash, right across the back of his leg above the knee, severing the two cords that are on both sides there that give a man the ability to stand. Instantly, his growling hatred changed to the shrill scream of a seriously wounded beast, and he took just one more step before collapsing in the filthy street. Despite what I am sure was an unspeakable agony, he retained the presence of mind to immediately begin digging into the mud of the street with his fingers as he tried to pull his body along. At first, I thought it was just a mindless need to escape me, but when there was a sudden eruption in the nearby fire that caused a brief flaring of the flames, thereby lighting the darkened street enough, I caught the glint of the metal from his sword lying a few feet away from him. But instead of hurrying past him to kick the sword away, I casually walked alongside him, albeit out of range of any possible attempt to reach out and grab me or make a lunge, moving in a parallel direction with him as I stared down, feeling not the slightest shred of pity. Or remorse, it must be said. No, the only sensation close to an emotion I was experiencing in that moment was an intense desire to make this man suffer.

  "You really don't think that's going to help, do you?" I taunted him, but although I actually did not expect an answer, Caecina's face, shiny from a combination of his sweat and what I was sure was the blood from the dead girl, turned towards me.

  "Y-you're going to pay for this." While I could not classify his tone as a snarl, it was far from a whimper.

  "By who?" I asked him, actually somewhat curious. "The Primus Pilus is dead, and all of his other…business," I was certain he would understand my use of the word, "died with him. So, Caecina," I had just reached his sword, the hilt lying right next to my foot, "who's going to make me pay for this?"

  He did not answer, at least right away because he had also gotten close to the sword, and I could tell by the embittered, hateful expression on his scarred face that he understood I was toying with him. Yet even as he knew it was hopeless, I also understood that, were I in his place, I would still make the attempt. But just as his hand shot out with a speed that was somewhat surprising considering his circumstances, I kicked the hilt, sending the blade spinning several more feet away. Now the sound that came from him was more gratifying to my ears as he hissed in frustration before it turned into a wailing, drawn-out whine of impotent anger.

  I was about to repeat my question when he collected himself enough to glare up at me with his one good eye, except I was completely unprepared when he repeated my question, then supplied his response, answering, "Who's going to make you pay? The gods, Pullus. The gods are going to avenge me!"

  "The gods?" I could hear the incredulity of my voice and, truthfully, I made no attempt to control my scorn at the idea. "You dare to tell me that the gods are on your side? After what you just did? You murdered that girl!"

  "Oh, spare me, you bastard," Caecina's face was twisted in pain, as was his voice, yet he managed to convey his own malicious contempt. "You couldn't give a fucking brass obol for that little cunnus, and you know it!" He was on his elbows now, his face still turned toward me and the milky eye catching another sudden flare of the fire. "This was about stopping me from something I wanted! It had nothing to do with some savage girl. Unless," even in his extremis, he tried to fight back any way he could, "you're angry because you were saving her for yourself."

  If he was about to say something after this, the flick of my wrist taking his lone remaining good eye turned it into a scream of such intense agony that, for the first time, I felt a flicker of something that could be called pity. Unfortunately, for both Caecina and me, this tiny spark of compassion was not sufficient to stop me. Immediately after the point of my sword slashed across his eyeball, he collapsed facedown, but only for a moment as he pushed himself over onto his back then reached up and clutched his ruined eye. Still, I caught enough of a glimpse of the gelatinous substance that fills our eyeballs because it glistened in a slightly different manner than the blood with which it was mixing. Understandably, Caecina was now sobbing, but he was still not quite through trying to hurt me back.

  "You fucking bastard," he screamed. "You miserable, jumped-up bastard! You think your cac doesn't stink just like mine does, that you have to squat just like the rest of us! You think you're better than me and everyone around you! You…"

  I cut him off by saying harshly, "You're lying here at my fucking feet! I just took your good eye, and you know I'm going to fucking kill you. I'd say that pretty much proves it!"

  "Maybe," he sobbed. "Maybe you're better than me, but you'll never be the equal of the Primus Pilus!" For the moment, I was content to let him continue, but then he said, "And you'll never be half the Legionary your father was." I do not know how he managed, but then he made a sound similar enough to his barking laugh to suppose that was what he was doing as he continued, "And you'll never be anything more than the cac on the sponge that wiped your grandfather, the great Titus Pullus' ass." His tone was mocking as he uttered what might look on paper like an honorific but when spoken was uttered as a curse. "You think you're something you're not, boy." As he was saying this he dropped both his hands from his face, even though he could no longer see, but he still turned his face at me, as if trying to force me to look down on the ruin I had made of it and his life. "Oh, you've managed to trick those other fools into believing you're the incarnation of him, but remember this." He lifted a badly trembling hand that turned into an accusing finger that pointed close enough to where I was standing to know it was meant for me. "You never fooled me. I've seen you for what you really are: a big, soft rich boy. You're no fucking different from Paullus or any of those patrician cunni because you think that who you're related to makes you special. But you're still a fucking Head Counter, and always will be!" By the time he finished this, his voice had risen to a level of hoarse shrillness. "And the gods are watching you, Pullus! They're the ones who are going to strike you down for your falsity! They know what you are! You can't fool them, and you couldn't fool me! I saw what…."

  "Actually," I cut him off sharply, "you can't see anything anymore, can you? Not even this." As I uttered these last words, my sword plunged down into his throat, hard enough to feel the grating resistance of his spine, but I did not stop pushing until fully half of my sword was no longer visible, buried in the ground and in the body of Gnaeus Caecina.

  Another aspect of this new type of madness that struck me was a level of calculation and awareness, which I am sure is what compelled me to drag Caecina's body back up the street, retracing our steps. Pausing long enough to actually listen to the night sounds, while the dominant one was a hissing roar that I knew was the fire raging just a few blocks away, I could also hear the clang of metal on metal, punctuated by the deeper thudding sound as someone blocked their foe's thrust with a shield. Those noises told me what I needed to know and I hurried on, hampered by the dead weight of Caecina. The blood that was still draining from his body was the least of my concerns at the moment; after all, I reasoned, I'm covered in it already and nobody can tell whose blood it is, I assured myself. Despite the fact I still think the reasoning was sound, there was a detail escaping my notice that would cause me some difficulty. However, I also knew I had to work quickly, but most importantly, I had t
o decide how close to the fire I was willing to get to accomplish what I was determined to do. As it turned out, I could only go one block over before the heat was so intense that I could feel the iron of my armor becoming too hot to touch. Granted, my tunic and padded undershirt gave some protection, but even so, I felt like I was being roasted alive, which is not far from the truth.

  Therefore, I threw Caecina's corpse into the first house I found, one whose door had been smashed to splinters, muttering as I turned around, "That's better than you deserve."

  Now I did not hesitate, breaking into a run and returning to the house where the girl and Mela were. As expected, he had bled to death, but I realized a possible complication; he was lying in a pool of blood that had already begun congealing, and the only way I could reach him was to step in it. And in doing so, I would leave behind what is a very distinctive footprint; the barbarian tribes of Pannonia, at least, do not use hobnails in their soles, not to mention I owned one of the largest pair of feet in the Legion, having to go out into town to have boots made that fit properly. Consequently, after I grabbed him, hauling his dead weight up and over my shoulder with a grunt and thankful that at least he would not drip all over me, I walked backwards as I dragged each foot, doing my best to smear the trail. It was too dark to see what kind of job I had done and I chided myself for my excessive caution, thinking it was extremely unlikely this house would be saved from the fire that was, at most, three streets away. Also, at the very least, I had obscured the size by my actions, understanding the presence of hobnails themselves was no proof of anything. Especially, I reminded myself, if there are no bodies here. Roman bodies at least, because while I deposited Mela in the same house as Caecina, believing it a fitting spot for him considering how firmly attached to our former Sergeant he was in life, when I returned to the house, I did not actually go inside again. Maybe I'm more of a religious man than I thought; this was what went through my mind before I decided to leave her there. Again, since one of the important aspects of this account is to be as honest as possible, while in the moment I would have claimed I left her as she was in the event that the fire was somehow stopped and she was subsequently found, her people could at least inter her in their manner, which is burial in the ground, that, however, is not truly the case. The harsh reality is I decided I wanted to leave the scene as it was, in the event that my actions against Caecina and Mela came to light. Not that it would matter in a legal sense; if the army allowed Legionaries to kill each other because of their mistreatment, or even murder, of prisoners, the Legions would never have a full quota of men and an impossible task in finding replacements. Ultimately, I left the murdered girl where she was, based on the belief it would ultimately work in my favor, rather than do what, arguably, I should have done. As it would turn out, my initial belief that at the end of it all, where she was would not matter because she was destined for the flames either way was proven correct, since the fire was not put out before it consumed that house and block.