Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “It might take more than a week,” Karus chuckled.

  “At least you have something to look forward to besides your army pension and a plot of land in some poor veteran’s colony,” Dio said. “You know it’s not every centurion that has a brother who is exceptional at business.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Karus said.

  Dio shot him a skeptical look. “You are seriously trying to tell me your brother is not good at what he does? He grew a small, shitty farming interest your father left him into one of the largest plantations on the island of Sicily.”

  Karus shrugged, admitting defeat.

  “That’s what I thought,” Dio said. “Your father raised two exceptional sons, I think. Both became very good at their respective professions.”

  “I will agree to that,” Karus said, reflecting upon his brother’s success. There was an open invitation for Karus to join him, to help manage not only the plantation, but the family’s growing investments.

  Karus had put in twenty-two hard years of service. With each passing year, his aches and pains increased. This past winter had been especially trying for not only Karus, but the legion.

  “Too much mud, wet, and cold,” Karus grumbled unhappily. His toes had quickly become moist from the numerous small puddles along their path, a result of the half-thawed mud.

  “Agreed,” Dio said as they reached the officers’ mess. He pulled the door open and held it for Karus. Light and warmth flooded out, as did a number of voices. A brown camp cat with white paws had been waiting for the door to be opened. It darted in as Karus stepped through, with Dio right behind him. The other centurion slammed the door closed as a gust of sucking wind attempted to keep it open.

  The officers’ mess consisted of a medium-sized common room filled with well-worn tables, basic stools, and benches. A kitchen, complete with several ovens and a fireplace for cooking, had been added as an afterthought. The kitchen was separated by a simple wooden door, which had been wedged open so that the heat from the ovens could warm the common room. Compared to the chill cold outside, the warmth was more than welcome. Karus’s fingers and toes began to quickly ache. As the door closed, half a dozen heads turned toward them, looking up from their meals.

  “Morning, Karus.” A grim-looking officer in his late twenties nodded a greeting. The man’s face had once been fair, but was now marred by a myriad of scars, the result of the previous summer’s campaign. Valens had once been an extremely personable and outgoing officer. Hard action and unfortunate luck—which led him into the hands of their enemy—had changed his outlook on life, and his view of the locals.

  “Valens,” Karus returned the greeting, nodding to the prefect. “And how is the Ala Agrippiana Miniata this morning?”

  Valens commanded the legion’s cavalry wing, an allied auxiliary cohort.

  “Still sleeping the night blissfully away along with the rest of the legion,” Valens replied. “Though soon enough I will have my boys in the saddle.”

  “There is nothing quite like a day filled with drill and exercise.” Dio clapped his hands together and rubbed them for warmth.

  “Entirely correct,” the cavalry officer replied, raising his cup of wine in toast to Dio. “Train ’em hard and often is what I say.”

  “Valens,” Karus said, “as a proper infantry officer I freely admit to a ready dislike for the cavalry. That said, I’ve always found your attitude toward drill and training your men toward perfection somewhat refreshing.”

  The officers in the mess chuckled, and Valens gave Karus another nod as he sipped at his wine. The young officer had long since earned Karus’s respect, which was not an easy thing to do. Unfortunately, after his rescue, Valens had developed a deep-burning hatred of the Celts. Friend or foe mattered little to the prefect. He hated them all just the same.

  Valens was seated with another auxiliary prefect, Arminus Autun Otho, who commanded the First Nervorium. The First was a light infantry cohort. Otho’s men had distinguished themselves over the last few years, primarily working as skirmishers and scouts. Otho, on the other hand, was a recent appointment, having transferred over from Second Legion, which was stationed farther south. Karus did not know him all that well. He hoped to change that, as Otho seemed competent enough. Only time, and hard action, would tell the man’s true worth.

  Karus received a few other nods and a handful of greetings as he and Dio made for a common table that had been set with bread, cheese, and jars of wine. He poured himself a cup of wine, which he knew was well-watered-down. The officer’s mess fee, a meager charge, paid for it. If he wanted better-quality stuff, he had to go into town and pay for it himself. Karus took a battered wooden plate, grabbed a half loaf of bread, and then poured himself a liberal helping of garum sauce from a jar. Dio did the same, but instead took honey. They settled on an empty table with two benches along the back wall.

  Karus saw Dio grimace as he dipped his bread into the sauce. Karus took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully as he contemplated his friend. It was the same old story.

  “You have to be the only legionary I know who is not overly fond of fish,” Karus commented out of the side of his mouth, chewing. He loved garum and for the life of him could not understand why his friend loathed the stuff. In Karus’s mind, the sauce was a gift from the gods. It simply made everything taste better.

  “I believe that real men were meant to eat animals that walk the land, not swim in the sea,” Dio replied with a look of distaste.

  “It isn’t because you can’t stand the taste of fish, is it?” Karus asked, deliberately dabbing up some more of the sauce with his hunk of bread. He took another bite and chewed, raising an eyebrow.

  “Fermented fish sauce is a taste that I fortunately have never acquired.” Dio wrinkled his nose at the ripe smell coming from Karus’s plate and dipped his own bread into the honey before taking a healthy bite. “You know perfectly well that summer we spent on those bloody ships cured me forever of fish.”

  “There was plenty to eat, that’s for sure.” Karus grinned, thinking back to the time they had helped to hunt down a small band of pirates operating along the coast. “I miss rays, and boiled lobster.”

  Dio grimaced again, shook his head, and then changed the subject. “Tell me about this Galba.”

  “He was governor of Hispana a few years back.” Karus took another bite and waited ‘til he had swallowed before continuing. “He forced this tribe, the Lusitanians, to surrender. They were real tough bastards and had been a thorn in Rome’s side for some time, interrupting the imperial silver and lead supply. They even killed tax collectors.”

  “The usual stuff then,” Dio joked, then sobered. “Worse than the Celts we have here in Britannia, do you think?”

  “Now that is hard to say,” Karus said, taking a deep breath as he thought on it a moment. “It is possible they were worse, but I doubt it. Anyway, after a difficult campaign, our friend Galba managed by force to finally convince the Lusitanians to come to heel and negotiate.”

  “I like these stories,” Dio said, “where hairy-arsed barbarians get it into their thick skulls that it’s easier to simply submit to Roman authority than resist.”

  “Well, they did.”

  “Quite sensible of them,” Dio said, taking a pull of wine from his cup and washing down some bread. “I wish our bloody Celts had as much sense, but assuming they had any would be charitable.”

  “Well,” Karus continued, drinking a swallow of the watered-down wine, “Galba made some demands. The Lusitanians met them and came as an entire tribe—men, women, children, entire families—to the governor and his army to submit. At the agreed upon spot, Galba ordered his legion to surround the tribe and made them turn over all of their weapons.” Karus paused as he thought on what it would have been like. Romans typically left conquered peoples armed. In a ceremonial surrender, the key figures usually handed over their weapons. It was far better to allow the tribes and local kingdoms to deal with internal problems
rather than have the Romans police all issues, such as banditry, in a province.

  “Once the Lusitanians had given up their weapons,” Karus continued, “the governor ordered the legion to move in and put the tribe in its entirety to the sword.”

  Dio paused mid-chew, eyeing Karus for a long moment. He continued to chew, though more slowly. He swallowed.

  “Women and children too?”

  Karus nodded.

  “That is a bad bit of business,” Dio said quietly. “Maybe they were worse.”

  “Perhaps,” Karus said and took a small bite from his bread. They were quiet for a few moments.

  “I would not have enjoyed that task,” Dio said, “even if these Lusitanians had it coming.”

  “Neither would I,” Karus agreed, “but this act by Galba represented more than simply the act of wiping out an entire people.”

  “How is that?” Dio asked, cocking his head to the right slightly. “They were enemies of Rome, and apparently got what was coming to them. Otherwise, the governor would not have executed them all. Am I wrong?”

  “Galba’s decision was flawed,” Karus said. “Once the Lusitanians had surrendered and agreed to submit to Roman rule, they were no longer our enemies. There is the practicality of reputation to consider.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t you think it sensible for Rome to honor her agreements?”

  Dio thought on it, and then nodded. “By honoring our agreements, no matter how much the bastards deserved it, you are saying that it would help with future negotiations?”

  “Exactly,” Karus said, pleased that his friend had grasped the meaning of Galba’s betrayal, which had really been to Rome herself. Despite Dio being barely literate, he was sharp as a finely edged weapon.

  “So, by going back on his word … other peoples and tribes might not be so willing to negotiate with Rome?”

  “Which would likely translate into more fighting,” Karus said.

  “More bleeding and dying by our boys then?”

  Karus nodded somberly.

  “Then Galba was a fool,” Dio concluded, chasing down some bread with a liberal dose of wine.

  “It was indeed bad business,” Karus said. “Polybius wrote it down—”

  “Wait,” Dio said, holding up a hand. “I think I’ve heard this part before. Long ago, he wrote it down so that future generations would not make the same mistake. Is that what you were about to say?”

  Karus chuckled. “You know me only too well.”

  The two officers ate in silence for a bit.

  A pretty woman in her early twenties emerged from the kitchen, carrying a small pitcher. She caught Karus’s eye, and he flashed her a smile of greeting. Dio turned slightly as she placed the pitcher on the serving table behind them.

  “Morning, Keeli,” Dio said, waving at her with his hand holding the hunk of bread.

  “Dio,” she said in a soft voice and then returned to the kitchen.

  “A nice girl,” Dio said. “Easy on the eyes too. I can understand why Felix likes her.”

  “He finally got around to buying her,” Karus said. Gallus Felix was the senior centurion for Fourth Cohort, another close friend and old comrade.

  “About time too,” Dio said. “They’ve been sweet on each other for far too long.”

  “He’s saved for six months,” Karus said. “When the headquarters staff gets around to it today, Keeli will be his.”

  “I suppose he still plans to free her?”

  “Yep. He’s also petitioned to the legate to make her an honest woman.”

  “Well,” Dio said, raising his cup in a toast, “I hope they make each other very happy.”

  “They both deserve happiness,” Karus said with a glance at the open kitchen door. “Though I rather suspect she will have her hands full with Felix.”

  “Has it occurred to you it might be the other way around?”

  Karus chucked.

  “How are those new recruits coming?” Karus looked at Dio as he took a pull on his cup of wine.

  “The other freed slaves?” Dio asked. “Well, they just finished their basic training. Surprisingly, none washed out, which I suppose is as good a sign as any.” Dio frowned. “To be perfectly honest, I was not expecting the manumitted when I put in the request last fall for replacements. I tell you, it’s just not right enlisting freedmen. Our recruits should be citizens.”

  “They will be when they complete their service. You’d reject a hundred eighty fresh recruits?” Karus asked him, already knowing the answer. “Just because the emperor saw fit to free a bunch of slaves, who had earned it?” The emperor had made legionary service a condition of their freedom.

  “Well, when you put it that way, of course not,” Dio said. “I’d never question the emperor’s wisdom. Freed slaves or no, we will make proper soldiers out of them.”

  “I have no doubt you will,” Karus said, speaking out of the corner of his mouth as he chewed.

  “It is a good thing we have some time,” Dio said. “This winter was rough and the legion needs work.”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed with drill, exercise, and training,” Karus said. “Though the campaign season is fast approaching.” Karus paused to take a sip of wine. “You should feel lucky, you know.”

  “I should?” Dio looked up at him with an amused expression.

  “Half of Felix’s recent batch washed out,” Karus told him. “The legate sent the washouts to an auxiliary cohort somewhere down south, near the coast.”

  “Seems like recruits these days just don’t measure up.” Dio made a disgusted look. “Kids today are all soft types, raised on the government’s dole back in the capital and expecting everything to be handed to them. They don’t understand that nothing worthwhile comes easy. They have an inkling we lead a life of adventure, and they want that, but are not willing to work for it. It is sad.”

  “We don’t lead an adventurous life?” Karus asked with a sudden grin.

  “Bah,” Dio said and tossed the remnants of his bread back onto his plate. “We seem to get only weak-kneed, spoiled children or, worse, convicts … and now slaves. It’s not like when we enlisted. I tell you, standards have fallen.”

  “I fear you are correct.”

  Karus had enlisted at age fifteen. His father before him had been a centurion, who had mustered out after taking a near-crippling wound. Raised on stories of legion glory, unlike his brother, Karus had known he wanted to be like his father. When he grew old enough, his father had seen to it that Karus had a place with his old outfit, the Ninth.

  “Nothing worth doing comes easy,” Karus said, quoting a saying that centurions were fond of telling their men. “Though I can think of a recruit who once thought he had all the answers.”

  “You and Centurion Sadius beat that out of me,” Dio said with a straight face. “But, as only age can confirm, I now know I have all the answers.”

  Karus chuckled.

  “Who got your two new centuries?” Karus asked, leaning back on his stool.

  “Cestus took the Fifth, and Mika the Ninth.”

  “Good men,” Karus said with approval, “solid soldiers, and suitable choices for centurions.”

  “Say,” Dio said, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear. “What is going on with Julionus?”

  “The legate?” Karus asked, and his mood darkened. “Nothing that I know of. Why?”

  “When old Tarbo died, you should have been promoted to camp prefect.”

  Karus dipped the last bit of his bread into the dregs of the sauce on his plate. He was deeply unhappy about this subject, and did not answer. The camp prefect was, technically speaking, third in command of the legion. The last camp prefect had caught sick over the winter and had not recovered. Tarbo had been a good man, someone Karus respected.

  It had been over a month since the new legate had arrived. As the senior centurion in the legion with the most experience, Karus felt that by rights the position should
be his. However, for some unknown reason, Julionus had put off appointing the next camp prefect.

  “Tarbo was one tough bastard,” Karus said, unwilling to follow the path Dio had started down. “I was sorry to see him pass from this world.”

  “He was a good man,” Dio agreed, taking the hint and looking down at his plate. “Remember that time he caught me sneaking those girls into camp?”

  “I do.” Karus chuckled at the memory. “He should have busted you back to the ranks.”

  “Only he couldn’t without embarrassing himself,” Dio said with a matching grin, “seeing as how one of them beauties was the girl he’d been seeing, bragging on for months.”

  “She was a looker,” Karus said, thinking back on a happier time. “What was her name?”

  “Cylenia.”

  “He got a little angry over that.”

  “I’d say.” Dio’s grin grew wider. “I’d be mad too, if I found out my girl was a common prostitute.”

  A muffled horn sounded in the distance. Both men looked in the direction of the door, as did those other officers present. The officer of the day had given the order for the legion to be rousted.

  “Well,” Karus said, standing stiffly. He waited a moment for the discomfort in his thigh to subside, then gathered up their plates and empty cups. He placed them in a wooden bucket by the kitchen door. Most of the other officers in the mess were doing the same.

  Dio stood and stretched out his back.

  “Duty calls,” Karus said loudly to those centurions who had not yet moved from their tables. “Time to earn your pay, ladies.”

  “The legate will be with you shortly,” the clerk said. He spared Karus a bored glance, then returned to his stool at a small table cluttered with scrolls and tablets. The clerk picked up a bronze stylus and began writing on a wax tablet. A scribe to his left wrote using ink on vellum.

  Karus chewed on his lip as he looked around the headquarters. Half a dozen scribes and clerks worked feverishly at various tasks. To his eye, they seemed unusually busy. He idly scratched an itch at the back of his jaw as he studied them. Something was on the wind, he was sure of it.