Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (35 page)

Calvinus stood silently as the Governor General placed his forehead in his hands.

“How can they ignore the loss of thirteen hundred men?” the Master Centurion asked after a minute of silence. “The Army of the Rhine suffered nearly five thousand wounded, as well. That’s twenty-five percent casualties! I swear by all the gods that this must be the highest percentage any Roman army has lost in a battle that they actually won. We came back from the brink of disaster, preventing another Teutoburger Wald! How can they ignore that?”

“Oh
, it’s simple, really,” Apronius replied. “Most of our men came from the provinces. What does the Senate care if a few hundred Spaniards, Gauls, Germans, and other various non-Latin legionaries die? We won the battle, and that was good enough for them! So now they would just as soon forget it ever happened.” Apronius stopped in his tirade when he saw Calvinus was gripping the edge of the table, his entire body trembling.

“They were my men,” Calvinus said quietly. “Whether they were born in Italy or not, they were still citizens of Rome. They
died
serving the Empire, and the Senate dares to defile their memories!”

“Our losses have been great,” Apronius concurred. “To say nothing of the loss of the entire Fourth Cohort…”

“And I’m afraid you stand to lose more.” Calvinus stood upright, his face composed once more as the Legate raised an eyebrow.

“Calvinus, surely you can’t mean…” The Master
Centurion shook his head interrupting him.

“I’ve had enough,” he replied calmly. “Apronius, I’ve given thirty-three years of my life to the
legions. Nineteen of those were with the Twentieth. I’m tired. My daughter never knew me when she was growing up. My wife barely acknowledges my existence!”

“Forgive me, Calvinus, but I did not even know you were married.”

“I keep my personal life private,” Calvinus replied with a shrug. “Besides, she doesn’t live in Cologne. Ours is a typical Roman marriage; one of political expediency and the hopes of offspring for my line, nothing more. Though I was but a legionary, my family had strong connections, ones that allowed me to get a special dispensation allowing me to marry, provided my wife did not reside where I was stationed; which suited us both fine. Our first two sons died within days of birth, a third was stillborn. My daughter, Calvina, is the only one of my children to live to adulthood.”

“How old is she?”

“She turns thirty-one next month,” Calvinus answered.

Apronius was surprised. He had envisioned a young girl, or perhaps a teenager. Still, he was glad for the change of subject.

The Master Centurion then gave a mirthless chuckle. “My son-in-law, I’ve only met twice. His father knew of my family’s wealth, in spite of my status as a mere soldier, so he knew Calvina’s dowry would be great. He is the mayor of Napoli, so it was a good match for us, too…do you realize I have a thirteen-year old grandson I’ve never even seen? I am a stranger to my entire family.”

“The love of family can push even the most committed soldier to long for retirement,” Apronius replied, his hands folded in front of him as he leaned across the table. “Tell me the truth, Calvinus, that is not the entire reason, is it?”

The Master Centurion breathed deeply through his nose and shook his head.

“No.”

“You just said you’ve spent the last nineteen years with the Twentieth,” the Legate observed, to which Calvinus replied with a nod. “There was another tragic event that happened around the time you came here.” The twitching of Calvinus jaw gave Apronius the answer he was looking for.

“Yes
…I am a survivor of Teutoburger Wald,” he replied, eyes boring into Apronius.

“I am sorry to have brought up such a painful memory,” the Legate replied, eyes on the table and unable to meet Calvinus’ gaze. “We almost suffered the same fate in Frisia.”

“The Fourth Cohort
did,”
Calvinus retorted. “And when I saw Proculus and Macro fall, not knowing whether they were alive or dead, and the Chief Tribune covered in his own guts and begging for death to come, I felt as if I had returned to Teutoburger. I swear I felt like I was there once more! At that time, only three men from my Century survived including me. And when I regained my senses I saw the entire Twentieth Legion sharing the same fate…”

“But we didn’t!
” Apronius countered. “The Fifth Legion repaired their bridge and flanked the Frisians, to say nothing of Tribune Cursor and his ten thousand.”

Calvinus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then fixed his eyes on his commander, and Apronius knew his resolve was unshakable.

“Forgive me, sir,” Calvinus said slowly. “I know my timing is horrid, but in all honestly, I just cannot see the faces of the broken and lost anymore. The gods have spared me twice, and now I think it is time for me to leave. I won’t go immediately; I will stay on for a couple more months. That should be enough time for us to get the Legion back on the path to recovery, as well as find a suitable replacement.”

Apronius stood and extended his
hand. Calvinus was surprised at first, but then clasped Apronius’ forearm in his firm grasp.

“Calvinus, you have been all that one could ever want in a Master
Centurion. Give Rome three more months and I will accept your request for retirement.”

Chapter XXV: A Goddess to Her Soldiers

***

Proculus’ injuries had been extensive, and he had yet to regain consciousness after swooning when the doctors had performed surgery on his stubborn wounds that had failed to heal, even after being back for a month. As Diana left her cousin’s house, she thought about the countless others who had come back wounded, some badly maimed. As a Centurion Primus Ordo, Proculus was one of the lucky ones. He could afford his own surgeons and was able to be cared for within his own house. The average legionary languished in the fortress hospital, which given the huge number of casualties suffered during the campaign, was overflowing. Since the fortress housed two legions, its hospital had twice the space, as well as doctors and medics. Unlike the Twentieth, the First Legion had only engaged during the Siege of Flevum and had suffered few losses. Be that as it may, no army facility was equipped to handle the more than five thousand wounded legionaries and auxiliaries that were crammed into every possible space, as well as many forced to suffer outside under temporary shelters, subject to the elements.

For reasons she could not comprehend, Diana felt compelled to visit these men. While her cousin had wished to protect his wife from seeing the horrors of war’s aftermath, at least he had a wife! Some of the legionaries had common-law ‘wives’ or significant others, though many more had no one. The
y suffered in silence and were all alone in the world, except for those who lay next to them in agony. Many of these were little more than boys of seventeen or eighteen, who had enlisted in the legions only a few months before.

A horrible stench greeted her as she reached the hospital. Several dozen soldiers, mostly auxiliaries, lay on tattered cloaks or torn blankets on the ground. Though they had fought just as hard and valiantly, legionaries would always take priority over their non-citizen compatriots. It was a type of bias that was simply accepted. The septic smell made Diana gag, though she fought to keep her composure. Proximo had accompanied her and was keeping a respectful distance behind his mistress. A medic was
sitting on a wooden crate outside, his head resting in his right hand, while a soiled rag hung from his left.

“My lady,” he said tiredly, unable to stand up. “You know this is no place for you.”

“My husband comes here every day, what do you mean it’s not my place?” she asked sternly.

“My apologies, ma’am,” the medic replied. “It’s just…we are not equipped to handle this many wounded. No one can see what goes on in there and maintain their sanity!”

With a nod of understanding, Diana stepped over an auxiliary, who was holding a filthy rag over his abdomen, which reeked of infection. Her hand came over her mouth as she stared into the darkened hall of despair and pain. The most badly injured soldiers lay on bunks, stacked three high. Others simply curled up on the floor. Their companions had brought them bedding and blankets from their billets, though for the auxiliaries, whose forts were scattered along the Rhine, there was nothing for them but what they brought. Orderlies carried pots for the wounded to urinate or defecate in, seeing as how these men were unable to so much as walk to the latrines that were just two blocks away. Some of the wounded were in such a state of fever and delirium that they had no control over their bodily functions and the room
stank of excrement.

Diana crept along the wall and looked into the other room where doctors and medics performed surgery and did the actual treatment of wounds. One poor man was lying on a table, his face clammy and pale
, lips already turning blue. Gangrene had spread through his body, like so many of the others who had been badly wounded. He was fighting to stop the violent convulsions that sent shockwaves of pain through is broken body. Another soldier, perhaps the man’s Centurion or Optio, stood over him, clutching his hand. The officer looked at the doctor who, with a look of emotional exhaustion, simply shook his head.

“I’m sorry
, sir,” the wounded legionary stammered, biting hard as another spasm sent torrents of pain through him.

“No,” the officer replied gently, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Please…please tell me I fought well,” the man pleaded. His eyes showed that he knew his time in this life was coming to an end.

Diana stood in the corner with her arms wrapped around herself, sobbing quietly.

“You fought like a lion!” the officer replied forcefully, bringing a brief smile from the legionary through the convulsions and pain. “It took half a dozen of them to bring you down, and two of those bastards fell by your blade!”

“Y…you’re the only father…I’ve ever had,” the young soldier gasped.
“I…I…I wanted to make you proud…” His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his tongue protruding from his mouth as his body thrashed about. His bowels let loose and the pungent odor mixed with the stench of rot that permeated the room.

“Sleep well
, son,” the officer whispered into the ear of the now still legionary. He attempted to close the man’s eyes, though there was nothing to be done about the protruding tongue, which was bitten nearly in two. As he stood and took a deep breath, Diana recognized the man as Centurion Dominus, the man who had replaced Vitruvius as the Commander of the Third Cohort. He turned to leave and noticed Diana standing there. His face was ashen, and all he could do was give a short nod. This was the only gesture that showed he saw her, for his eyes were distant and lost.

“One more name to add to our call to the fallen,” he said quietly as he stumbled from the room.

“Can I help you, my lady?” a medic asked, startling Diana, who was staring at the dead legionary that orderlies were carrying towards the back door.

A bucket of water was dumped onto the table and it was quickly wiped off with a bloody rag before a less gravely injured soldier was lifted onto it.

“No,” she replied, trying to compose herself. “It is I who should be helping you. What is it you need?”

“Well
, to be honest,” the medic began, not sure if he should speak candidly to her, but he took a deep breath and went on. “To be honest, we are terribly short of clean bandages and rags, as you can plainly see. Not enough hot water either. And those poor auxiliaries, they haven’t got so much as a proper cot, or even a pillow and nice blanket to protect them from the cold. Gods know how many more of them will perish in the freezing night! Nights in Germania, even in summer, are not kind to those who have to sleep out in that; to say nothing of their being weakened already by their wounds!”

Diana pitied the poor man. Even though he was not a legionary and did not take part in the fighting, he had to deal with the aftermath. If given the choice, most legionaries would sooner fight a thousand battles, rather than deal with the abject suffering that followed a single engagement. Diana nodded and then turned to Proximo, who stood loyally by, though his own senses were assailed by what they had witnessed.

“Return to the manor,” she directed. “Have the servants gather every spare blanket, bed sheet, towel, and whatever cloth we may have lying around. Have them boil water, as much as they can, fill every spare vat and jug in my possession. Also…tell my husband where to find me.”

“Yes
, my lady,” Proximo replied, his face creased in worry. As soon as he had left, Diana turned to the orderly once more. She removed her stola, so that she was only wearing her tunic vest and riding breaches.

“It seems you are short staffed
, as well,” she asserted as she proceeded to tear her stola into long strips.

Artorius was surprised by all the activity in his house. A cart that the gardener used was piled hig
h with sheets and blankets. Wine vats and large clay jugs were stacked alongside with steam escaping from them.

“What’s going on?” he asked a slave, who was using a large rope to hold everything in place.

“My lady’s orders, sir,” the man replied averting his eyes downward. “This is to go to the hospital. We were also told to let you know that that is where you can find her.”

“The hospital?” Artorius asked to no one in particular. He had been there every day since their return from Frisia, visiting his wounded legionaries. He knew the squal
id conditions that infected the place, and the thought of his wife being there horrified him. Suddenly, injuries to his side and leg seemed to cry out as he leaned against his vine stick, a realization coming to him. He hung his head, deeply ashamed. He had returned to the comforts of his manor house, not once thinking about how he could use his ample resources to help his men. Diana had spent five minutes in that hellhole and she knew what needed to be done. He cursed himself and started the mile-long trek back to the fortress.

Night had fallen, and it had started to rain by the time he reached the hospital. The cart from his house arrived but minutes after he did.
He watched as Diana rushed from the door that led to the barracks portion of the hospital. Her hair was disheveled, her stola gone, and her tunic covered in blood and other fluids. She had attempted to keep her hands and arms clean, though these were still caked with grime and flaking blood. He stood fascinated as orderlies starting taking blankets and covering up the shivering auxiliaries that lay on the ground. Three more had taken vats of steaming water and a number of rags into the billets. Most of the rest went with Diana into the operating wing.

As he limped towards the door, he saw Diana emerge
once again. She had been there since early afternoon and was completely exhausted. She had stayed on, even after the night shift at the hospital had taken over their duties from the day staff. She noticed her husband for the first time as she leaned against the door jam, her arm stretched over her head. She looked down, unsure what to say. When she looked up again, he simply nodded and took her by the arm. She directed their servants who had come with the cart to stay and assist the hospital staff with anything they required.

Not a word was spoken between them as they walked out of the gate to the fortress. Diana looked
haggard in the torchlight, though the guards knew better than to say anything. Artorius pretended to not notice the looks of horror on their faces. As they approached a small stream, Diana stumbled off the path and collapsed to her knees. She started vomiting uncontrollably. Artorius knelt next to her, ignoring the growing pain in his side and leg that now made walking very difficult for him. Diana was now crying openly, her sobs echoing through the darkness.

“Dear gods, those poor boys!” she struggled to say. “So much suffering! What have they done to deserve this?” Her face fell into her hands as she let loose all the emotion that had been building up inside of her.

Artorius placed his arm around her shoulder, but when Diana turned to put her arm around his waist, she accidentally ran her hand over his stitched up side. He gasped in pain and collapsed onto his backside. Diana sobbed and turned away from him, beating her fists into the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I cannot even touch the one I love without hurting him!”

Artorius took a few deep breaths as he tried to clear his head. He then reached around from behind Diana and took both her hands in his.

“Here, you can grab onto me here,” he said as he pulled her closer to him.

“I cannot go home,” Diana whimpered, “not with what those boys are going through. It’s not right!” Exhaustion and sorrow consumed her, and she was in a type of stupor.

“Then we’ll just lay here,” Artorius replied, soothingly. He
eased onto his side, pulling Diana close, her back resting against his chest, his powerful arms wrapped around her waist. He winced as he accidentally bumped his wound against a rock, but managed to stifle any further groans.

“I’m sorry,” Diana cried softly.

A chill breeze made her shiver and Artorius held her tightly. He was instantly taken back to the night on the Rhine in Braduhenna, though he refrained from mentioning this.

The glow of a lamp shone over them as a passing patrol spotted them down by the water. As Artorius looked up behind him, he recognized the voice of the Decanus leading the men.

“Centurion Artorius!” Sergeant Felix said with surprise. “You alright, sir?”

Diana had tucked her head and had her eyes shut hard. Artorius could not help but chuckle softly at the absurdity of their situation.