“Honors I’ve had. What I’d like is to see what I haven’t yet seen. What you look like when you smile.”
He reached out and his scabbed and battered hands enveloped her delicate ones.
Her eyes ignited and her lips widened in a smile that could have melted frozen rock.
“Rufio!” Flavia shouted from across the grass.
She was kneeling at the edge of the woods and talking to the little girl. Her mother was kneeling beside her and looked alarmed.
“What is it?” Rufio said as he ran up.
The girl was gripping her cat tightly.
“She went into the forest to get the cat,” Flavia said. “She told her mother she saw men coming.”
“Big men,” the girl said. “With swords. Hairy men.” She made a tiny fist and placed it on top of her head like a knot.
“Suebi?” Rufio asked.
“Yes,” her mother said. “I think so.”
Flavia sprang to her feet and dashed off toward the trees.
The three minutes she was gone seemed like a year.
“About a hundred on the other side of the woods,” she said as she ran up. “Coming this way. About a quarter mile off. What’s happening?”
“Valerius!”
Rufio’s tone was enough. Valerius dropped his food and ran to him.
“A hundred Suebi. Form up the men.”
Valerius was off in an instant.
Sensing trouble, Adiatorix suddenly appeared at Rufio’s side.
“What is it?” the chief said.
“A vengeance raid. Barovistus must know it was you and your men who helped turn the battle. He’s here to slaughter your people.”
Rufio turned toward Flavia, but she had vanished.
“We have enough men to beat them back,” Adiatorix said.
“No, you must protect your people. We’ll hold them off. Get everyone together and head toward the fort.” He looked for his optio. “Hurry!” he shouted to Valerius across the open ground.
“What do you mean?” the chief asked.
“You need a reserve. You people never understand reserves. If the Germans get through us, you’ll still be there to make a stand. A rear guard to protect your people.”
Flavia came running up with her bow and quiver.
Adiatorix stared at him as if he were mad. “What you mean is you’ll hold them off until we can escape. Then they’ll overrun you and kill you all.”
Valerius hurried over with Rufio’s sword belt and helmet.
“We need shields, chief. As many as you can get.”
Adiatorix ran toward the village.
“Form a line!” Rufio ordered as his men began assembling. “Three ranks!”
“Rufio,” Valerius said.
“What?” he asked and buckled his sword belt.
“We cannot do this.”
“Of course we can.” He pulled on his helmet. “We’re soldiers.”
“Seventeen men in a line? They’ll flank us in a minute.”
Rufio’s eyes bored into his. “Have you lost your belief in me?”
It was a terrible rebuke. The shock to Valerius was as great as if Rufio had hit him across the face with a steel rod.
“No, I have not.”
“Good.” The trace of a smile pulled at his lips. He placed his right hand on Valerius’s left shoulder. “I’ll see us through this day. Distribute the shields.”
Rufio turned toward the east.
“How do you think they’ll come?” Flavia asked.
The woods began about a hundred and fifty feet away, but they were split by a small clearing thirty feet across.
“Through that opening,” Rufio said. “Passing through the trees would slow them down. We’ll be waiting for them.”
He looked back toward the village. Adiatorix had gathered his people and some were already hurrying off toward the fort.
Rufio ran over to where his men were getting their shields.
“None for you,” he said to Diocles and pulled it from his hand.
“Why not?”
“You won’t fight. You must live to write of what you see here.”
“You need me.”
“Our memory needs you. Stay at a safe distance and lock in your mind all you witness this day.”
He turned to Flavia. For a moment, he forgot the world. He stared into her glorious eyes.
“You must go, too,” he said.
“No!” she shouted. “I’ll fight by you.”
She turned and bolted toward the trees.
He ran her down about halfway to the woods and pulled her to him.
“You must defend your people,” he said. “If the Germans get past us, you have to make a stand.”
“Oh, Rufio,” she said and pressed her face to his chest. “You cannot die here today. Then I would die, too.”
He held her in his arms. “You must live for your people. Live for Gaul.” He smiled into her eyes. “Breath of my life, you must live for me.”
He took the red flower from her hair and tucked it behind his dagger belt.
She battled back her emotions and succeeded until he pulled off his signet ring and pressed it into her hand. Then the tears came. She squeezed him in her strong arms and her lips seared into his.
When she pulled back at last, he leaned forward again and kissed her on each of her eyebrows.
“Go now,” he said gently. “Don’t look back.”
He turned away and ran to his men.
The century had assembled into three ranks. The colorful oval shields were dazzling. Red and blue and green hide coverings were decorated with rings and swirls and loops. The shields were smaller than legionary ones, but they had the central iron boss the Romans favored.
Adiatorix stood there holding two swords, a long Gallic weapon and a shorter Roman one.
“We have no more shields,” the chief said.
Rufio reached for the Roman sword with his left hand. “This will do.”
“I took that from a Suebi. Perhaps it was Carbo’s.”
“Go now, chief. Your people need you.”
The two men locked eyes in the special bond only brother warriors may know. Then Adiatorix hurried away to join his people.
“About a hundred Suebi are coming this way,” Rufio said to his men. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. They have one purpose, to slaughter these Sequani in revenge. We cannot allow that. Why?”
“The men of Rufio have outlawed German butchery,” Arrianus shouted.
They all laughed. They looked more confident than Rufio had ever seen them, so great was their belief in him.
“They outnumber us two to one,” Rufio said. “That should make it even. Remain calm. Follow my commands and I’ll see you through this day. Valerius will lead the first rank from the right. I’ll be in the second rank in the middle. The third rank will follow my lead. We’ll meet them at the break in the trees. March!”
The century crossed the open space and halted about fifty feet from the gap in the trees.
Rufio could already hear the Germans. They would never learn to advance in silence. He tightened his grip on the sword in his left hand and pulled the sword of Hetorix with his right.
The Germans came around from behind the trees and entered the break. Barovistus led from the front. A bandage encircled his head. He stopped when he saw the Romans.
“He’s stunned,” Rufio said. “The lambs aren’t here.”
The Germans started shouting and waving their spears and swords. Then Barovistus screamed the Suebian war cry and the Germans poured though the opening.
“Hold,” Rufio said calmly to his soldiers.
The Germans bore down on them.
“Now!” Rufio shouted as the front of the German wedge cleared the trees.
The Romans yelled and tore across the ground and hit the Germans with the force of a ram. The momentum of the impact was tremendous. The Germans staggered as the Celtic shields smashed into them and the Roman s
words flashed and killed.
Startled by the boldness of the attack, the Suebi struggled to pull back and regroup.
Valerius and the front rank sheared forward, climbing over the dead and thrusting and chopping like men possessed by demons.
Then the moment Rufio was waiting for arrived. Barovistus realized how few Romans there were and he ordered his men to flank them.
“Second rank, pivot right, pivot left!” Rufio shouted.
The men on either side of him split in the middle and swung out to the wings, perpendicular to the first rank.
“Third rank, pivot to the rear!”
The third line spun around and in an instant the century had formed a square.
The Germans crashed into it futilely. Their numbers were useless against the wall of shields and blades. The more desperate the Germans became, the more reckless they got, and the Romans cut them down like blind and crippled dogs.
Rufio stood in the center alone, wheeling about, rushing to support every tiring soldier. More than once he slashed past the head of one of his own men and split the skull of a German that was pressing his man hard.
In minutes, more than half the Suebi fell in maddened rushes against the Roman square. Others were already pulling back in confusion and exhaustion.
Rufio looked about for Barovistus. Far beyond his men he saw the last thing he expected to see. Beside the food tables, Metellus was battling two German swordsmen. Blood ran from a wound on his face and he fought without a shield.
Rufio pushed through his men and slashed at the Germans before him, first with one sword and the other. He finally broke through and dashed across the clearing.
Metellus was down on his knees. One of the Germans was dead, but the other hacked at the weakening Roman. The German grinned with the smell of conquest.
Then Rufio was upon him. The German heard him and spun around, slashing down at the shorter Roman. Rufio blocked the blow with his left-hand sword and thrust his right straight through the German’s breastbone. It splintered like kindling. Blood exploded from his mouth and he went down. Rufio thrust into him over and over in a warrior’s fury until he finally had to stop for breath.
“How bad?” he said to Metellus.
“A cut on my forehead. I’m weak but I’ll be all right.”
Like a charging bull, something crashed into Rufio and sent him tumbling, both swords flying from his hands.
A grimacing Suebi leaped upon him and pinned him to the ground as massive hands encircled his throat.
Rufio whipped his dagger from its sheath and plunged it into the contorted face. Again and again the blade struck home.
He pushed the corpse away and sprang to his feet. He saw Barovistus launching a spear. There was no escape. It grazed his left thigh and his leg buckled.
Barovistus barreled down on him, a long Gallic sword in his hand.
Rufio looked to Metellus for his sword, but he had fainted and Rufio could not get to it in time.
He turned to face Barovistus from one knee. The German closed in with a snarl of loathing that would have frightened the dead.
Rufio threw his dagger with terrific force deep into the German’s stomach. It staggered him, but on he came.
Rufio tried to get to his feet, but his leg failed him.
Looming over him with a face twisted with rage, Barovistus raised his massive sword. Rufio threw up his arm uselessly.
An arrowhead burst through the brow of Barovistus and his entire body rippled like the snap of a whip. For a moment he stared blindly at Rufio, and then his legs seemed to break in half and he collapsed like a shattered icon.
A roar shot up from the Romans at the German’s fall.
Rufio’s gaze shot across the field and there stood Flavia, magnificent and indomitable, bow in hand and raising a second arrow.
The remains of the German line crumbled. Leaderless, they fell back and ran for the trees.
“Let them go!” Rufio shouted, knowing the Romans were not strong enough to pursue.
A horrible cry shot up from somewhere, and Rufio saw a young blonde warrior bolt straight toward Flavia.
Sword in hand and insane with despair, he rushed to cut her down.
Flavia pulled the bowstring taut and waited.
The German did not seem to care as he closed in.
Flavia drew a bead. And then the bowstring broke. Suddenly the lethal arrow seemed like nothing but a pointed stick.
Rufio pushed himself to his feet, but he could barely hobble. Then he saw Valerius.
The optio had dropped his shield and was dashing across the battleground toward the charging German, but Rufio realized with horror that Valerius would be too late.
“NO-O-O-O!” Rufio screamed with all the pent up anguish of a lifetime.
Flavia braced herself and held the arrow like a knife but it was just a useless twig.
Another cry, a colossal howl of exertion, perhaps a cry from the throat of Victoria herself, shattered the air.
A German spear flew from the left of the field and passed through the air and through the German with the ease of the finger of a goddess. He stumbled a few more steps and crumpled to the earth, the spear breaking beneath him.
Rufio spun to the left.
Still bent double from the enormity of the effort, Diocles slowly stood up to his full height a hundred feet away.
The Romans roared in triumph.
“Help Metellus,” Rufio said as Valerius came running up.
Rufio picked up his sword and limped across the field as his men swarmed Diocles and Flavia.
“Form a line!” Rufio shouted.
They did as ordered and he stood before them.
His men dripped blood from many cuts and gouges, but not one had fallen.
“Rufio! Rufio!” Arrianus chanted in his deep voice, and immediately the rest of the men joined in.
“Rufio! Rufio! Rufio!”
He thrust the point of his sword into the ground to steady himself and looked from one to the other of them, and suddenly his eyes felt hot.
“My people thank you for what you’ve done,” Flavia said as she stepped before them. “The Sequani will forever remember this day.”
“Kiss her, centurion!” Arrianus shouted. “If you don’t, one of us will!”
Rufio laughed and they all laughed with him.
In her own sacred realm, Victoria, too, graced her beauty with a smile.
58 WHO COULD DECEIVE A LOVER?
Virgil
______
An hour after dawn, the fort pulsed with the energy of a new day. The cool damp air invigorated Diocles like an exotic potion.
He strolled the fort for the final time. The permanent aroma of baking bread already filled him with longing.
He walked by the barracks blocks, noisy with activity. He wanted to visit the men in the hospital once more, but it was too early to disturb them, so he moved on. Past the bathhouse he went and around to the other side of the fort. He stopped before the place where his adventure had begun.
Some of the cavalrymen were leading their horses out of the stable. He went around to the side of the building. With their usual fanatical cleanliness, the soldiers had long since cleared away the old stacks of hay left over from winter. A bare space remained at the spot where Diocles’ life had been transformed. Where a strange man, half-crippled by a wound, had climbed some bales and looked into eyes certain of their own death. Where mercy from the hand of the conqueror had begun Diocles’ first lesson on the nature of power, and on the power of honor.
He turned away and headed back to the Principia, but he no longer noticed his surroundings.
As usual, Sabinus was at his desk and Crus was bending over it and pointing out something on a document.
“Ready?” Sabinus asked.
“Yes,” Diocles answered in a near-whisper.
“Have you said farewell to your century?”
“I did that yesterday. That’s why I slept in the Praetorium la
st night. I cannot bear to see them again today.”
“Are you going to sneak out of the fort?” Crus asked in an amused but kindly tone.
“I made Valerius promise me he’d take them on a route march this morning. I’ll be gone before they return.”
“Always the clever Greek,” Sabinus said with a smile. “Let’s walk out together.”
The three men left and passed the guarded shrine housing the legionary standards. Diocles paused. He stood there for a moment, and then turned away and walked outside.
In full armor, the First Century lined both sides of the courtyard, Valerius and Metellus at either end of the little avenue of honor they had made for him. He stepped into the sun and every man placed a hand on his sword hilt.
He turned to Sabinus and Crus. They smiled but said nothing. He looked back at his comrades. They all smiled at him with affection and with the special respect only Roman soldiers can give.
He swallowed hard and lowered his head. He promised himself he would show no more tears, but he knew he promised in vain.
Flavia sliced with long and forceful strokes through the lake, then dipped beneath the water and swam back in the opposite direction. She pierced the surface and turned and swam to the shore.
She stepped onto the bank, and the late morning sun allowed itself the pleasure of a secret caress. Her hair hung down her back in thick black ropes, and the water rolled off her skin onto the grass. She reached toward the sky and stretched upward as far as she could. As she strained to grasp the heavens, she groaned with the rapture only a young woman can know. Muscled like a female Apollo, but blessed with the softness of Venus, she was a woman for whom any king on earth would have eagerly bartered all the pearls in the sea.
She plucked a handful of yellow flowers and rolled them vigorously between her palms. After sliding her fingers through her wet hair, she lay back on the grass, serene in the unashamed nakedness a goddess preferred.
She felt the hoofbeats before she heard them. She rolled over. Her gray mare was already alert as Varacinda rode out from the trees.
Flavia rose and walked toward her with that powerful stride that was hers alone.
Varacinda slid from her horse and ran toward her. The eyes of the chief’s wife were red with weeping.
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