by R. W. Peake
“She did it,” I told him.
“You did a very good job of bandaging this wound,” the physician told her in Greek.
She did not say anything, but it was easy to see that she was pleased at the compliment.
“It’s a lucky thing you found her,” he said dryly, probing the wound.
I could not reply because my teeth were clenched together so tightly, this being only slightly less painful than my hand.
“The good news is that your chest cavity was not penetrated,” he told me. “But the bone is showing, and it needs to be stitched closed.”
Using a pair of tweezers, he gently removed a piece of tunic from the wound, then after finding nothing else, pronounced the wound clean and ready to be closed.
“We will do that first, before we work on the finger,” he told me, signaling to an orderly. “Pindarus will stitch your wound closed while I look at other men. When he is finished, I will return and we will get to work.”
Before he walked away, he beckoned to the girl, who shot me a frightened glance. I nodded to her, encouraging her to follow him, which she did, albeit reluctantly. The medici came to begin the work of cleaning and stitching the wound on my side. He also brought a jug of wine, along with a smaller stoppered bottle. Before he began, he poured me a cup of wine, which I accepted gratefully, draining it in a gulp.
“What’s in the bottle?” I asked as he worked.
“Poppy syrup,” was his answer.
“Poppy syrup? For me?”
He nodded.
“But I thought he didn’t use poppy syrup because it hinders your breathing,” I protested, but he just shrugged.
“It’s the orders of the physician. I don’t know anything about breathing. I just know that what he’s going to do to your finger is going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt.”
With that cheery thought, he finished his work to leave me staring at the bottle, wondering how much I was going to be given.
The orderly had been right; even with a spoonful of poppy syrup, which made me feel deliciously drowsy and relaxed, making me understand why some men were as drawn to either smoking or taking syrup as much as wine, the work the physician did was excruciating. I was given a leather covered wooden gag and I almost broke a tooth from biting it so hard, trying not to watch him use a tiny saw to cut through the bone of my little finger. My hand was strapped down to a board held out to the side, and coming from his tent where he was still recuperating from his own wound, Novanus showed up to provide comfort, or at least that is what he said. I think he just wanted to see me suffer the way he had, but I was happy to see him nonetheless.
The girl had been put to work cleaning up as more men were brought into the tent. The high-ranking men such as myself and Claudius were segregated, with a leather partition to screen us from the rankers, but it did not block out the sounds of agony and fear of the men brought into the hospital. The physician had to make a deep cut down the flesh of my finger to peel back the skin and muscle in order to expose more of the bone. Somehow, I managed to stay awake and quiet through that. It was the sawing that elicited a groan from me, but I refused to cry out, the sweat pouring down my face. About that time, Novanus reached out to offer me his hand, which I had done for him during his trial, and I took it gratefully, despite a part of me being ashamed of my weakness. Fortunately, the work of sawing through a small bone like my little finger did not take much time; I could not imagine what it was like for a man whose leg had to be amputated at mid-thigh. Once he was done, he tossed the fragment of bone into a bowl set aside for that purpose, or so I supposed. I do not know why, but it was the sound of the bone hitting the bowl that caused me to faint, although I was unfortunately not out very long. When I awakened, Novanus was still clasping my hand while the surgeon took the skin that had been left behind by the shortening of the bone, folding it over the end of the remaining stump. A brazier had been set next to my cot and I could see the wavy air above it that told me that it was burning fiercely. Using a cloth, he grabbed the end of an iron rod that had been placed in the brazier. I caught just the glimpse of the smoking, red-hot end before he grasped my hand firmly, pinning it to the board with surprising strength.
Looking over at me, he asked me quietly, “Are you ready?”
I tried to swallow so that I could speak, thinking I would say something to show my contempt for what was about to happen, but my mouth was too dry, forcing me to content myself with just a nod. Without any more delay, I watched the hot end of the iron moving down to my hand. I experienced the briefest sensation of an agony that made all the pain I had suffered to that point seem like it had been nothing more than stubbing my toe or cutting myself shaving before I fainted again. When I came around this time, Novanus had gone, and I could tell by the light from outside that it was late afternoon. The sounds of fighting had been barely discernible before, but they were totally gone now, and I was happy to see that the hospital tent had about the same number of occupants as when I had first been brought in. I could vaguely hear the sounds of shouting, noting that they did not hold the kind of urgency or fear of battle. Instead, the shouting I heard sounded happy, telling me that Naissus had fallen, the men having been released to sack the town. That thought made me look around and my heart sank because at first I could not see the girl. Then I heard a quiet cough; looking the other direction, I saw her seated a couple paces away, watching me intently. Seeing I was awake, she stood to come to my side.
“Good. You’re awake finally,” she said, and for the first time I noticed that her voice had a pleasant, melodic lilt to it.
Now that all the excitement had died down, it was also the first opportunity to examine her more closely. She was young, perhaps in her late teens, and my early impression of plainness was confirmed, the girl possessing an oval face with wide set brown eyes and a nose that reminded me a bit of a pig, upturned at the end. Her lips were full and she did have all of her teeth, which were surprisingly white and even. She had long brown hair that I imagined would have been shiny and quite pretty, but now it was matted and stringy, while her face was dirty from all that had happened that day. She had managed to put something that resembled a dress back together enough that she was covered, but I could see by the quality of cloth and cut that she had been a poor girl before this day. Now she was worse than poor, since I understood that whatever family she may have had before this were now either dead, or being rounded up to be sold as slaves. But her eyes were kind as she looked down at me, reaching out to give me an awkward pat on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said hesitantly. “I do not know what would have happened if you had not come along.”
“Yes you do, and so do I,” I replied, my tone more harsh than I meant it, but the pain in my hand and to a lesser extent, my side, was distracting to say the least.
Her eyes turned downward, and she answered with a slow nod.
Feeling badly that I had spoken so harshly to her, I asked, “Have you had anything to eat?”
“No, but I am not hungry,” she replied.
Then there was nothing to say, and she sat there while I dozed for a bit. I was awakened by a commotion, a moment later looking up into the faces of Scribonius, Balbus, and Diocles, their expressions various studies in concern.
“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Diocles scolded me, but the relief was plain to see in his eyes.
“Well, you found me.”
Scribonius surveyed my hand, heavily wrapped in a linen bandage, his face giving no hint of what he was thinking.
“What happened?” he asked, and I braced myself to lie to my best friend.
I repeated the story that I had told the physician. When I had finished, Scribonius and Balbus exchanged a glance, then Scribonius looked back at me, his eyes boring into mine. They held an expression that took me a moment to interpret. Finally, I recognized it as sadness, and I felt ashamed of myself. There was an awkward silence, the three of them standing next to my cot, while I tried to avo
id their eyes. Then Diocles looked over to see the girl sitting there, taking it all in.
“Who’s this?”
I opened my mouth, realizing that I did not know the girl’s name.
“What’s your name, girl?” I asked her.
“Egina,” she said shyly.
“Her name’s Egina,” I told Diocles.
“Thank you, master. I never would have known if you had not interpreted for me,” he said tartly.
“Hello, Egina. My name is Diocles, and I belong to Prefect Pullus,” Diocles addressed her in his native Greek.
She looked at him in surprise.
“You are a slave?” she asked, and when he nodded, her confusion only seemed to deepen.
“But you don’t talk to him like you are a slave.”
“That’s because I’m lying on this cot and can’t beat him for his impertinence,” I broke in, glad that the subject had shifted to something else.
“So you will beat him later?” This seemed to be very important to her for some reason.
“If I remember, but I must confess I usually forget.” I said it as a joke, but I think she took me seriously, or else she had her own deadpan sense of humor.
“Then I will remind you,” she said with a completely straight face. “A slave should not talk to his master in such a tone.”
She turned to give Diocles a withering glare.
“And you obviously have forgotten your place.”
With that, she gave him a dismissive toss of her head, leaving him staring at her completely flummoxed. Scribonius and Balbus began laughing, and despite the pain it caused my side, I joined in.
Suddenly, I remembered something that stilled the laughter in me, and I asked, “Where’s Gaius?”
Neither spoke for a moment and my heart felt as if a hand was squeezing it, but their hesitation was because each was waiting for the other to speak.
Seeing my distress, and evidently forgetting for the moment his disappointment with me, Scribonius put a hand on my shoulder, saying quickly, “He’s fine. Not a scratch.”
The relief that washed through me was so intense that I let out a gasp.
“In fact, he’s outside the tent, waiting for one of us to go get him. He knew you'd be angry with him, and he asked us to see you first.”
“Go get him,” I told Diocles, who seemed more than happy to escape from the wrathful stare of Egina.
“So where did you find her?” Balbus asked me, and I knew that just saying I found her would not be enough for Balbus or Scribonius.
“I stopped some of our men from carrying her off.” Since I was speaking in Latin, I did not worry about Egina contradicting or reacting to my lie in a way that would alert my friends.
“Why would you do something like that?” Balbus demanded. “What do you care about some Moesian girl? Besides, the men deserve some fun for taking the town.”
He was absolutely right; under normal circumstances I would not have given a second thought to allowing a group of Legionaries having their way with a woman belonging to the enemy, and I had to think fast to cover my tracks.
“Because they were doing it when there was still fighting left to be done,” I explained.
Balbus said nothing for a moment, then gave a shrug.
“Then that’s different.” I tried to hide my relief at his acceptance.
A sneaking glance at Scribonius told me that he was not convinced in the slightest, but he still said nothing. Fortunately, Diocles returned with Gaius, who had managed to clean himself up a bit, but I could see his mail was still spattered with blood. After a quick examination, I saw that my friends had been right, that he was essentially unmarked, other than a nice bruise on his forearm.
“Uncle,” he began to speak, but I cut him off immediately.
Despite the pain, I swung myself to a sitting position, glaring up at my nephew, who looked at the ground.
“What by Cerberus’ hairy balls do you think you were doing?”
He refused to look up at me, but I could see the tops of his ears turning red, and he did not answer.
“I asked you a question, Gaius,” I was getting angry now, yet when he lifted his head to look me in the face, I could see he was not in the least apologetic.
“My job,” he replied evenly. “I was doing what you trained me to do.”
“I didn’t train you to take foolish risks,” I countered, but he was not budging.
“So says the man who's won two Corona Muralis,” he retorted, and my stomach tightened.
“Is that what this is about?” I asked incredulously. “You're trying to match me in some way?”
He did not answer and I felt the despair wrap around my heart, suddenly realizing why he had done what he had.
“Gaius,” I forced my voice to be calm. “I'm honored that you're trying to emulate me, I truly am. And there's a part of me that's extremely proud of you for leading your men in such a valiant manner.” I could see that he was pleased, which was not my intent, so I pressed on. “But there's a larger part of me that, as your uncle, and as someone who's deathly afraid of your mother, is absolutely horrified that you'd risk yourself in such a reckless manner.”
“Yet I’m not the one who's sitting on a cot covered in bandages,” Gaius replied coolly, and now it was my turn to feel the blood rushing to my face.
“This isn’t about me,” I snapped. “This is about you and you’re taking needless risks.”
“Uncle, I don’t think leading my men and sharing the dangers with them is a needless risk. You taught me that, and now you're angry because I'm doing what you taught me.”
What made this so infuriating was that he was absolutely right; I had stressed to him the importance of leading from the front. How could I impress upon him the reason I was so worried?
Looking over at Scribonius, Balbus, and Diocles, I told them, “Leave us for a bit.”
The girl, Egina, seeing the others leaving, rose to join them, but I waved her down. Since Gaius and I were talking in Latin, I did not worry about her listening to what I had to say. After they had left, I looked at Gaius, trying to form the words.
Finally, I said, “The reason I'm worried about you taking these risks is because I've made a decision.”
I paused, but he said nothing, just waited for me to continue with a raised eyebrow. Fine, he was not going make this easy on me, so I plunged on.
“I've decided that I'm going to adopt you, and make you my sole heir. When I die, you'll receive most of what I have, and I can promise you, I've done very, very well in the army. Most importantly, once I finish my term as Prefect, I'll be made an equestrian, and as my heir, you'll be an equestrian as well. Along with your children.”
Frankly, I had assumed that he had been expecting this, but judging from the way his jaw dropped, it appeared to be a complete surprise.
He did not speak for what seemed to be a long time, then finally stammered, “I….I don’t know what to say, Uncle.”
“There’s not much to say,” I said lightly. “I’ve made my decision. I’m sure your mother and father will approve.”
“Oh, I don't doubt that,” he answered instantly, yet there was a hesitation that made me wary.
“Then, what's the problem? You don’t seem to be as happy as I thought you'd be.”
“Uncle, I'm extremely honored, and I'm touched.”
He paused, then closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.
“But I'm afraid I can't accept.”
For a moment, I was sure I had not heard him correctly.
“What do you mean, you can’t accept? Why in Hades would you turn down such an offer?”
“Because I plan on marrying Iras, and I know that you don't approve,” he said gently. “But I love her more than anything, even this great honor you do me.”
I sat on the edge of the cot, my head spinning, except I did not know if it was from my wounds or from what Gaius had just said. I had been sure that when presented with this opportu
nity, all thoughts of Iras would fly from his head immediately. Only at that moment did I see how wrong I had been. Sitting there on the cot, thinking of all the things that I had lost and how there was nobody really to share it with, I made my decision.
“I don’t care about that,” I said, and I do not know who was more surprised, me or Gaius. “Marry Iras, marry whoever you want. I want you to be my heir.”
Gaius’ face creased into a wide smile, then he bent down to hug me and kiss me on both cheeks.
“Uncle, you've made me the happiest I've ever been,” he cried, and I saw the glint of tears in his eyes.
“Don’t get carried away. I’m not dead yet,” I joked.
He waved my jest away.
“I don’t care about that. I’m just happy that you finally accepted that I love Iras.”
If it had been anyone other than Gaius who had told me this, I would not have believed him, but I was sure that he was telling the truth.
“But, now that you're my heir, I don’t want you taking the kinds of risks you took today,” I warned him.
“Uncle, I'm going to do my job, the way you and Scribonius trained me to do it,” he told me firmly and, despite my worry, I was proud of him for not wavering.
“Then you're going to have to endure me chewing your ass when you do,” I grumbled, and he laughed that boyish laugh he had.
“Fair enough,” he conceded.
With that settled, I told him to help me gather my gear, then beckoning to the girl, I walked stiffly out of the tent. Philipos, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue from the long day he had put in, saw me leaving and hurried to intercept me.
“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.
“To my tent,” I told him.
“You need to rest.”
I brushed his protest aside, saying, “I can rest in my tent just as easily as I can rest here. And you can use my cot for someone more seriously wounded.”
Seeing that I was not going to change my mind, he told me to keep my hand elevated to reduce the swelling, and gave me a small bottle of poppy syrup.
“I don’t need that.”
“You will,” he countered. “Take no more than one spoonful at a time.”
