Note from Kanuro5: 9/1/16. Happy Birthday to me! I've turned 23 and I started my 2nd year as a teacher two weeks ago. I can see it, I see the light at the end of the tunnel for Invictus. I'm closer to finishing with each chapter. Enjoy!
XXXV
The Calm before the Storm
Day 59 of the Campaign
A large snowflake fell on Proculus' nose, he sneezed. His eyes rose to the grey sky above that sprinkled a soft flurry of snowfall unto the marching legion. He and his brother rode at the front of the marching column with the muffled stomps of soldiers' boots crunching the snow behind them. Proculus rubbed his running nose and felt his growing beard. It was more of stubble than a true beard; he could feel the rugged crimson hair grow on his face providing slight warmth. He turned around in his saddle, staring into the many bearded faces of the legionaries behind him. They wore their beards in mourning for their dead General, and all men in the legion forswore the act of shaving until they avenged Lucius' death. And it served a more practical purpose in keeping them warm from the cold. They all resembled unkempt Greeks than proper Romans. Especially Antonius, who already wore a beard at the start of the campaign, now possessed a beard to put many Greeks to shame; his was thick and bushy, Proculus even joked with him that a bird could reside inside.
He turned his eyes to Vitus and sniggered lowly at his attempt of not shaving. His face was still smooth except for a few places on his chin where random strands of hair began to grow and a light mustache upon his lip. Despite the faint mustache, Vitus still shone an image of pride that many men could fail to recreate.
Vitus yawned and turned to his brother, their eyes met. Proculus spoke first, "How's your palm?"
"Good. Sore. Itches like crazy. How's your shoulder."
"Good. Sore. Stiff like crazy." He tried rolling his shoulder, and could still feel discomfort. He desperately hoped this would not become a lifelong injury. "When I'm fighting, my pumping blood aids in numbing the discomfort."
"Same for my palm. They say time heals all wounds." Vitus examined his palm and felt the scar on his forehead. Proculus felt his scar on his shoulder, and touched the deep scar on the bridge of his nose, and stared at his brother.
"How much farther?"
"No idea. I've sent Oroles and his Thracians along with Ardunas to scout a head. Within an hour the sun shall prepare to descend past the earth, we shall find a suitable position to set camp."
"Excellent, my thighs are killing me." Proculus readjusted himself in his saddle. The chafing was tormenting him; he was never a natural rider like Vitus. Whenever he would ride his stallion, Remus, at the end of the marching day, his thighs would feel as if they were on fire. He recalled the first time he was taught to ride, he was around eight. He remembered his Father hired some Parthian to teach him. From what he could recall, it was a tough time staying in the saddle, and even tougher controlling the horse. But he stuck towards his lesson, all in the effort of making his father proud. Within a month, or two, or three—Proculus failed to recall—he was ready to show his father the fruits of his labor. He distinctly remembered his father rustling his dark auburn hair, proclaiming, "That's my son." His mind drifted back to the headless corpse. His stomach churned, he gripped the reins tighter. Cassius…you bastard.
"What do you believe we shall find when we get there?" Proculus asked. "To Samarobriva."
"Probably barbarians."
"Fine…how do you imagine the Legion to be when we reach the town?"
"Probably cold."
Proculus stared at him dryly, "Sarcasm does not become you, brother."
"Nor does obvious question become yours," Vitus smirked.
He heard the clomping of hooves descending down the road towards the Legion. Around the bend of the road came Oroles and Ardunas, returning from their scouting. They reared their horses in front of the brothers, Oroles was the first to speak, disbelief clothed his face.
"Generals! We have news of great import!"
"What is it?" Vitus asked.
The Thracian and Gaul exchanged a glance. Oroles said proudly, "We've found it!"
"What have you found?"
Ardunas' eyes were wide; he smiled as he answered, "Samarobriva."
The Thracian and Gaul led the leaders of the Legion in a stealth reconnaissance of the prized town. The legion was ordered to stay a mile away from the town as the brothers, Antonius, and Cossutius followed the Thracians and Gauls on horseback to the outskirts of the town. When they were close, they dismounted their horses and crept along the vegetation around the top of the hill to avoid detection—the Julius brothers even crawled in the snow. Upon reaching the crest, the leaders of the Legion—wide-eyed and speechless—finally saw their objective below in the valley. They saw Samarobriva.
The layout of the city was different from what Proculus had come to expect. Samarobriva existed in the middle of a valley surrounded by hills on all sides except the north. The state of the town was poor. Various wooden buildings were on fire, the wooden palisades that protected the town looked as if they were prepared to crumble at a moment's notice, and corpses were mounted high in piles both inside and outside Samarobriva. But his heart soared at the sight of purple-cladded figures roaming inside Samarobriva and the Purple Banner with the inscription "SPQR" was flying high in the middle of the city. They were still alive, and they were still holding. Proculus smiled and wondered if the Praetor was yet among the living.
Whilst Proculus and his company were on the eastern hill, he could see the Gallic and Briton camps standing proudly on the western hill. The banners of the Gallic Boar and the Brittonic Stag flapped brazenly in the camps. Hundreds of barbarians were finding ways to kill time; training with one another, cooking meals, and sleeping out in the snow-covered grass. Some were even firing the Roman onagers at the settlement, large balls of flame shot from these catapults and slammed into the settlement with horrid ferocity. But one thought lingered on Proculus' mind, only one person in that camp mattered. Those tall, imposing hairy barbarians all looked like toddlers from the slope; Proculus' eyes were transitioning from barbarian-to-barbarian. Which one of those goat-smelling, yellow-teethed, raving-nudist savages was Cassius?
He felt his brother nudging him on the arm. Vitus smiled at him, "We made it, Proculus. We made it!"
Proculus smiled back, "Gods, it felt like years on that campaign, but we finally made it."
"Indeed, but now the challenge truly begins." Oroles remarked.
"How many barbarians do you suspect?" Vitus asked.
"We took a count with an approximate number of 350 Gauls and 1800 Britons."
Proculus groaned to himself, the Twenty-Eighth had a standing strength of 800 men. He turned to Vitus to see if his brother had comprehended the odds. Vitus was staring firmly into the numbers of the enemy.
Vitus said to his brother, "Well, history has taught us that battles have been won with worse odds."
"Indeed, though usually at great cost."
Cossutius kneeled down next to the brothers, his eyes falling on the ranks of barbarians in the camp. "The men have marched this far, they know what odds they shall face." He shook his head with a smirk, "I cannot fathom that they left no guardsmen to guard the perimeter. We just walked right in here."
Vitus said, "They didn't expect anyone to attack them from the south, that fort we took was supposed to be their warning. Yet, Fortuna smiles on us."
As Vitus looked out to Samarobriva and saw the banners of the Senate, his fingers curled together around the hilt of his Gladius. "Those men, in the purple, they…"
"Yes, they are the Senatorial Army." Antonius muttered, "I pray that the Praetor is yet among them."
"How about we hit them now?" Proculus suggested. It seemed like a feasible plan. The barbarians certainly weren't expecting them now, and upon hearing that the enemy is right in their grasp, the vengeful Legion would spur together towards victory.
"Such a plan would be sound if the men have not been marching all day. General, I believe with the men tired, pushing an assault would not be prudent," explained Cossutius.
Vitus nodded as he rose to his knee, "So we attack at dawn with renewed vigor." Vitus' eyes didn't leave Samarobriva, he uttered lowly to his brother, "We're finally here."
"I can hardly believe it, Vitus."
"Do you believe he's alive?"
"Gods, I pray so. We've lost too much for him to be for Elysium."
Nightfall had descended on the Twenty-Eighth's camp and tensions were at an historic high for the legionaries. The brothers ordered a triple perimeter security all around the camp and all campfires were to be kept at an inconspicuous low; the men have come too far to be noticed now by any barbarians. Though they camped a mile away from Samarobriva and were on higher ground, the Legion took no chances in being detected. All leaders of the Legion ranging from centurions, tribunes, the Thracian leaders and Ardunas, were underneath a large command tent, waiting for the brothers to arrive with a stratagem for tomorrow. The brothers waited outside the tent, gathering their thoughts before they entered.
Vitus exhaled nervously, "Well, this is it."
Proculus fastened his brother's crest. "Indeed it is."
"So, I should do most of the speaking?"
"I believe so, you have more militaristic experience than I, you should speak." Father chose you in the end to lead the Legion. It has to be you. "So, are you ready?"
"No, I'm terrified. But I can do this. We can do this."
"I'm following you."
The brothers took an exhale and walked into the command tent. All the centurions snapped to attention. Vitus placed his helmet on a large table that had a map of the local area set upon it. Vitus cleared his throat, and stood straight with pride, his aura gave off an air of strength. Proculus was glad to call him his brother.
"Men, we've made it. We have been on this campaign for nearly two months and we have finally arrived at our destination. We have experienced the highest joys and the lowest despairs on this journey. We have been deceived and beaten by an enemy we've never truly expected, but now, he shall not expect us. Here it is, the start of our vengeance. A mile out from us is Samarobriva; it resides at the base of a valley where the opposite hills are housed as camps for the Gauls and Britons. Oroles and Ardunas, here, scouted the camps and give estimate of 350 Gauls and 1800 Britons; totaling 2,150 barbarians."
Proculus looked onto the faces of the centurions, expecting grimace to contort their expressions. But they stood tall and stoic, the news barely fazing them. Cossutius was right; they knew the odds when they marched. Actually, Proculus believed he shouldn't have been surprised. The Twenty-Eighth has always fought against larger numbers since its inception. The men have been accustomed to these situations, and he suspected some of them even thrived on facing these odds.
Vitus continued, "So upon the break of dawn, the Legion shall march forward into the valley and face the barbarians. Our greatest weapon is the element of surprise, they all believed we've fled, imagine their shock upon seeing the remnant of the Legion, an apparition if you will, coming to haunt them and destroy them." The centurions smiled at the thought. Centurion Cervinus, the most junior centurion of the legion, raised his voice.
"General, permission for a question?"
"Speak."
"General, what of the chariots? They must hold a lesser number than they've wielded from the Ambush since we destroyed some during that fight, but yet I feel it needs to be addressed. What are we to do about them? At the quarry, the chariots carved through us like melons."
"Understood. I've formed a plan for such a task. The valley that surrounds Samarobriva is a giant circle seeped with a large forest. We can send men to flank around the hill and fuck the barbarians up the ass. I've chosen the Auxilia cavalry to flank around the hill and to engage the chariots and onagers before they can be used on the men. I've discussed this with my brother and I decided that he shall lead the cavalry attack."
Proculus could feel the eyes of the room upon him, yet there was no feeling of discontent in their stares. They were firm and gave off a presence of trust. He prayed that he wouldn't betray their conviction. Vitus continued.
"Which is why, we shall engage the army as we descend down the slope of the hill. As we march down the hill, hopefully it shall draw the barbarians to us; barbarians despise waiting for the enemy to come to them in favor of charging. If they charge uphill in the snow, they shall tire considerably. And in the case that the Auxilia fails to reach the chariots in time and the chariots are charging at us, they shall have to move uphill in the snow; drastically reducing their combat effectiveness." Proculus could hear the murmurs of approval and witnessed the proud nods from men like Cossutius and Oroles.
"Yet the role that holds the most import in tomorrow's battle is the Praetor himself. If the Praetor sees his relief, then with Fortuna's blessing he shall rally his men and charge out of Samarobriva and assist us, destroying the barbarians on both sides. I do not know how many men he has, but if an army of over 2,000 men are holding them in a siege instead of attacking the city, then more than likely he holds more men than the 28th. If he commits, I wholeheartedly believe that they can change the tide of battle."
"Permission for a question?" It was from Aelianus.
"Speak."
"I pray I do not speak such statement into existence, but what upon chance that we liberate Samarobriva, and the Praetor is dead?"
The men stared at the brothers, their eyes hungry for an answer to remind them that their sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. It seemed to Proculus that Vitus couldn't think of an answer, so he spoke for him.
"If the Praetor is dead, then we take his body back. If his body is burned to ash, then we take the eagles back. If the eagles are seized or destroyed, then we take the standards back. If the standards are seized or destroyed, then we take the fasces. If the fasces are seized or destroyed, then we take the Senatorial legionaries back. If the Senate's legionaries are killed, then we take their armor back. Men, I care not for any scenario, we shall take something back to the senators of Rome. We shall not come back empty-handed."
Vitus smiled at him as did many of the Romans in the room. "That's correct," Vitus added on, "We shall find something to bring back to the Senate. Such is our plan for tomorrow. We attack at dawn with the Legion from the hill to the barbarians' front and have our cavalry pincer the barbarians from the rear, and hopefully the Praetor's army shall rally to the battlefield, and the barbarians are destroyed. This is the course we shall tread. Questions?"
No man raised their hand or voice. Their fervent gazes were on the brothers, Proculus could see the emotion within their eyes. Pride. These men were ready to stamp themselves in the pages of history; a battle of annihilation to avenge the men who died beside them that they were proud to call family. And in this battle, they would trust these two young generals.
"This is it." Vitus shook his head softly, it seemed like he was going to pass out from disbelief. But he stood strong, and spoke stronger. "20 years. Our father created this legacy known as the Twenty-Eighth, this invincible legacy. You all have fought with him and bleed for him for many years…" Vitus placed his hand on Proculus shoulders and stared at them, "Now please, with bleed with us tomorrow."
Proculus chimed in. "Tomorrow, we shall meet Lugotorix and Segovax on the field of battle. Tomorrow we strike to honor all those lost and all those who shall be lost in attempt. This shall not be for glory, this shall not be for gold, this is for honor and to kill all those bastards. For we are more than mere mortals. We are Romans, we are the Julii, and we are the Twenty-Eighth! So, shall you all stand with us, for what might be the final time?"
The men saluted, "Twenty-Eighth!" The brothers smiled.
"Dismissed."
An hour passed after the war council. The brothers went their separate ways within the camp; Vitus to check on the morale of the men and Proculus to check the defenses. The sentries reported no signs of movement from outside the camp, then again the night was still young. But Proculus could breathe easy at the moment as long as they were no barbarians lurking outside the camp. He sat alone in an isolated section of camp, his mind drifting in mental preparation for tomorrow; but it did not drift for long.
"Proculus?" Proculus opened his eyes. Antonius was looking down at him. "What are you doing?"
He answered the tribune, "I was searching my thoughts and soul about tomorrow."
"Hmm, I see. Come walk with me and receive warmth. So, what are the lay of your thoughts?"
"Truthfully? Fitful. We have finally arrived at what has cost us everything, and tomorrow, it all ends, one way or another."
"Like all things in life. And you can either prepare for the end or be swept away by it, and I shall not have the latter befall you."
"I try to hold the appearance of control, but my brother and I lead this Legion. Truthfully, Vitus leads the Legion, and I am a glorified second-in-command."
"And such is why you speak to a second-in-command?" Antonius couldn't help but smirk.
"I…believe so, yes. If my Father was yet of this world, I could rest easier knowing that whatever plan he made would succeed, but now—"
"You're fearful of what to do, absent a father to guide your hand. It's natural, Proculus. And inevitable. You've must have known that your father would have eventually pass, leaving you and your brother in this world."
"I did. But it was so prematurely, you remember him; the man was stronger than an ox and meaner than lightning, he had another full decade left of life."
"You've come a long way, Proculus. I see it, so does your brother and the men."
"Truly?"
"Yes. You must have felt a change, a sort of, maturation."
"I believe so, but," Proculus chuckled, "Surely my behavior in the past was not that horrid?"
Antonius stared at him with a raised brow, "How would you feel if I whipped out my cock and sprayed my seed on your hand?"
Proculus scratched his armpit and looked to the ground, "Oh. Um…right. I never did apologize for that. Antonius, I offer apologies for that…most disgusting action."
Antonius stared at him but ultimately shrugged with a sigh, "You are forgiven." He looked at his hand and chuckled, "I must have scrubbed this hand for an entire hour after we took you from the whorehouse."
Both men shared a laugh. Antonius looked upon him favorably, "You know, truth moves my tongue; I did not care for you a time, for a long time. I viewed you as slothful, shameful, and pathetic. I mean, your fighting was like that of a woman—" a fit of laughter seized Antonius, "No, a girl with palsy could swing a sword with more grace than you back then! You couldn't even throw a pilum with precision, by the Gods I thought Jupiter struck you simple. And then you couldn—"
"Oh no, continue, you are truly making me feel proud, Antonius…"
"Apologies, I…apologies, what I mean, you came a long way and you've matured greatly. If you're truly worried about tomorrow, then pray to the Gods to aid you, I shall do my part as will the men. Be yourself tomorrow; well—actually be your new mature, competent self, the one that your brother placed his faith in. I'm proud of the man you've become. And I know from the afterlife that your Father looks on you with pride."
"Gratitude, Antonius. Truly."
Antonius exhaled and gazed at the stars, "Well, the night is still young. There's much more that I can do to prepare. Until the morrow, Proculus."
"Until the morrow, Antonius."
And like that, the young man was left to his own thoughts once again. He wondered where his brother would be inside the camp, but it took him less than ten seconds to figure out where he would be.
Proculus roamed into Thracian sector of the camp and found his brother sitting with his guardian angel by a fire. He moved forward to join their conversation, but stopped as he observed what they were speaking was of a personal matter. He pondered leaving entirely, but he found the temptation of eavesdropping to be sweeter.
"I do not believe that Rome shall grant us Getae a community within their city, even if I hold the position of King through technicality," the Thracian told Vitus.
"You spoke of it before, if the Maedi prove disastrous, Rome holds choice of forcibly reinstating you as monarch over Thrace. And if we succeed tomorrow and return with the Praetor and the Legion's eagles, the Senate shall have to comply with any boons that we may request."
Oroles exhaled, "Well…such is not the worst plan I've heard for the future of my people."
"Oh quit that sulking. You sound as an old woman." Vitus smiled at him, "You've fought and bled for your men in this Legion for fifteen years and my Father did not provide you with opportunity. This Legion now belongs to my brother and I, and we shall see you rewarded."
"We"? You use "we"? Proculus rolled his eyes with a smile. Interesting how you speak for me, Vitus. But since it's for Oroles, I can let that slide.
A cold gust of nightly wind hit them. Vitus and Oroles pressed their hands close to the fire, Proculus' eyes wandering to the Thracians' hand. They were calloused and scarred, wounds that could tell its' own unique tale of how they now blemished his olive colored hands. The brother turned to Vitus' hands, they weren't as calloused as the Thracian's but he had a wicked scar from the dagger bite on his left palm. Proculus looked to his own hands, they had been bruised and scraped, but never scarred and never calloused; virginal compared to these two.
"How long did it stand that you were just a boy, eager to prove yourself yet horrified at the thought of murder?"
Vitus chuckled, "Too long."
"You've matured, you and your brother. As warriors, as leaders, and as men; you've matured."
"I had help, from every person I met on this campaign, the good and the bad."
"Such is life. It molds you into your purpose through triumphs and tribulations. Two months ago, you stood as a simple Commander with no discernable responsibility. And now you stand with the title as General over the remnant of a legion. A title most deserved."
Vitus scratched his neck with despondent blinking, "Yet it comes prematurely."
"Vitus, there are many things given to us in this life for the wrong reasons. What we do with such blessings…that is the true test of a man."
"You claim it 'blessings', huh?"
"Blessings, curses; they're interchangeable with perspective. But such depends on what you do with them."
"Oroles, since I could recall, my greatest desire was inheriting the Legion from my Father. To be admired as a great general by the Republic as he was. And now that I hold such a title and know the responsibilities that it bears, I have never felt more alone. I form a smile and laugh for morale, but I've never been more afraid. All choices fall on me; this plan could succeed and fail because of me. How can I win a battle when I am afraid? Please, help me not be."
Oroles placed his heavy hand on Vitus' shoulder. He chuckled lowly, "Oh Vitus, there's yet a lesson of leadership that you've failed to grasp. You are never alone. A good leader trusts his plans; a great leader trusts his people. This is not on you alone. You have Proculus, you have me, Ligadis, Antonius, Cossutius, and even that Gallic hedonist, Ardunas. Your centurions shall aid you, your optios, your decurions, and even the slaves. You are your father's son, and they recognize that, only ask and they shall aid you, fight for you, and die for you."
Oroles patted him on the shoulder; the words that came from his lips were soft. "Do you recall what you asked me on the eve of the Praxus Hill battle? You asked me, 'If I would die for you.' Do you recall my answer."
"Wow, that was long ago, but I believe I recall…you said, 'I would only die for a fellow Thracian. But I would do everything in my power to keep you alive.'"
"Indeed. You've grown into a better man from where you were. You were the first Roman to show me respect. Vitus, I would gladly give my life for you."
Proculus nodded. What a touching moment between friends. Friends? Proculus thought back, Oroles is possibly the only good friend Vitus ever had. And it turned out to be a Thracian. Yet it was something that Oroles had just said, that rubbed Proculus the wrong way, and he couldn't help feeling distaste in his mouth.
The Thracian finished "And I would give my life for your brother, for your family."
A smile crept on Proculus' face.
Proculus waited alone outside the Thracians' part of camp, he figured that whatever Vitus and Oroles would have to say would be for Vitus' own ears. It was ten minutes after he left that Vitus was heading out of the camp. Proculus crept behind him and placed his arm over his brother's shoulder.
"Are you done staring into the soul of Oroles?"
"Are you done staring into your…um…wine pouch?"
"Eh, that wasn't bad, a little sloppy, but not bad."
"Apologies, for my lack of talent for insults. Is the camp secure?"
"It is. The sentries are tripled and the guards are on the highest alert for infiltrators. Stakes have been dug outside the camp as well. We are secure. How are the men?"
"The men are sober, all of them. No songs are being sung, no raunchy jokes are being told, and the men are sharpening their weapons and sparring with one another. You would think something was wrong if this was the case, they were so rowdy before the Ambush. But their minds are set to purpose, and that is all we can ask of them."
The brothers heard a grunt coming from ahead of them; they walked to the low commotion to witness Cossutius throwing Ardunas to the snow. Ardunas jumped to his feet and charged against Cossutius and threw a heavy right hook; but relying on his legionary training, Cossutius dipped the punch and seized Ardunas by the torso and hip-tossed him to the snow. Ardunas began to groan, Cossutius chuckled with superiority.
Ardunas was panting hard as he lied sprawled on the ground, "You are a tough bastard, old man. I'm bigger than you and yet you defeat me effortlessly in hand-to-hand. How?"
"Experience," the legionary said proudly. It donned on the brothers that they were sparring.
Proculus walked up to the mercenary and extended his hand, pulling Ardunas to his feet. "Face down with a Roman beating your ass. There's a clever jest within there and I'm trying to find it."
"Indeed, have you tried searching up your ass? I'm sure you can find anything up there, I bet even your dignity."
Proculus quickly seized the Gaul in a headlock and said with a slight growl of humor, "I do not believe we are paying you to chastise us with your words."
"You've paid for my bow, not my tongue."
Vitus told Proculus to let him go. Vitus brushed the snow off Ardunas, "How find you, Ardunas, on the eve of battle?"
"Restless. My blood courses faster than a rutting stallion. Fuck! My mind must be occupied. I want to beat something into the ground. I've been going throughout the camp exerting my dominance over the weaker men. Fuck, I require something to keep my racing blood flowing!"
"And how did you become a part of this, Cossutius?" Vitus asked.
Cossutius shook his head with a faint smirk. "I was making the rounds with the men, General, speaking to those who were ready to give voice to speak. Then I see this man wanting to fight everyone around him. He spots me and charges at me with reckless abandon, I then reacquainted him with the ground. He kept trying to bring me down and yet I stand unmoved. This Gaul is truly strange; I think he gets a jolly out of wrestling an old man at night."
"You shall fall to your knees in front of me with your tongue out in defeat, old man!"
"Must be the kalends already for you, Ardunas," Proculus quipped with laughter. Vitus couldn't refrain from laughing himself.
Ardunas ignored them with what seemed to be a bashful scowl. He rustled his own hair and shouted, "Vitus, Proculus! Fuck! Where are the women? Doesn't a legion have camp followers?!"
"Normal circumstances, they do," Proculus said, "But this campaign isn't normal, it was to mobilize with haste to rescue the Praetor. Are all Gauls pent up with lust like you?"
"Seems like that's the Snake and the Crab* is it not? And for clarity, there are no Gauls like me. I am what I am."
Cossutius gave him a silent stare. Proculus scratched his chin. "Someone has to be."
Ardunas voiced a deep snicker. "There it is. My cock's at half-mast. There must be some slave girls to fuck around here, you would know, eh Proculus?"
"I never touched those girls, they are not camp followers, and they are in service to the medicus. And you shall not touch them."
Vitus inquired, "Must you be filled with such lust before a battle?"
Ardunas sat casually on a tree stump, drinking a pouch of wine. "Fighting and Fucking. Two of the greatest joys in this world; intertwined like night and day, and push and pull. You cannot have one without the other. A fuck before a fight clears the mind and invigorates the body, and a fuck after a fight releases the tension in the body and is the best sensation in the world." He held out two fingers for them, "You see how the two work together?"
Vitus rolled his eyes, "Unbelievable. Cossutius, can you believe such a theory?"
"I can. I was in the Army for many years, General; believe me when I say that I've seen thousands of men like that."
"What did I just say, old man?" Ardunas barked. "There are no men like me."
"There are always men like you."
"Alright, cool off, you two. Proculus and I are paying too much for you, Ardunas, to fall to injury."
"Me 'falling to injury'? You should worry about that pile of bones over there."
"'Bones'? I'm 46."
"And you brothers, are you even aware how much you're paying my men and I now?"
The brothers looked at one another, hoping for an answer. Proculus said, "Well…quite a sum apparently seeing that you're still here."
"Which begs the question, if Proculus and I shall fall tomorrow, what shall you do?"
"Scavenge the field for spoils of war and leave."
"Th-That's it? Just like that?"
"Just like that. With your demise, my men have no cause to fight except for vengeance. But you two have some fierce Gods on your side. How else you explain all that you've accomplished and survived these past months? If you perish, then the Gods are no longer with you, and by extent the Legion. Now, I like you two, as Roman as you are, I do, and so do my men. We'll keep you alive as long as possible, but if you perish, then we shall depart."
"I understand, Ardunas." Vitus said.
"As do I," his brother replied. "Ardunas, gratitude for coming this far with us, even as we accused you, you still remained by our side."
Ardunas nodded with an arrogant smirk, and turned to Cossutius, "Primus Pilus, do not believe this makes my men and I cowards."
"I do not. I've seen it many times. You are mercenaries, you have no allegiance to anyone but coin. As malicious as it sounds, know that I bear no ill will in my voice. The objective of a mercenary is to be wealthy; mercenaries do not become wealthy dying for their benefactor."
Ardunas gave a guttural laugh and pointed at Cossutius, "There it is. You sound as if you were once a mercenary yourself. What about you, old man? What shall you pursue if you survive tomorrow? More service with the Army?"
"No, my service shall end soon with the Legion. Two months, two weeks, and six days left. And I retire."
"And do what? Become a grocer?"
Proculus patted the grizzled centurion on the back. "Upon our Father's desire, Cossutius shall be adopted into the Julii Family upon the end of the campaign."
Ardunas almost spat his wine out. "What?"
"Indeed. I figured Father would at least enlist Cossutius in the Evocati under a prefect grade, but this is even better." Vitus smiled. "A worthy addition of the Julii name."
"Well here's to you," Ardunas raised his pouch. "To fancy living and fancy names. If we survive."
Proculus scowled, "You're such a wretch."
"You didn't hire me because of my personality."
Cossutius sighed, yet stood tall. "He's right, tomorrow is never promised. Proculus, Vitus, the reason I accepted the adoption was to ensure a future for my family. It is for them that I fight. For my wife, my son and daughter, they deserve the world; they deserve an easier life than I have endured. And for that, I shall not die tomorrow. I shall not. I shall see them again."
Ardunas chuckled, "Keep telling yourself that. And while you're at it, continue in breaking words about me so that I may not die."
Cossutius ignored him. He turned to the brothers, "Generals, whatever happens tomorrow, know that it was an honor serving under you two. You've made your father proud." He saluted, and they saluted back. "Are you two ready for tomorrow?"
Vitus looked at him frankly. "No. I'm not, but I have to be. For the Legion, for Father, I have to be ready."
Proculus rustled his brother's hair, "Well, you do not stand alone in that regard." Cossutius nodded proudly. A splicing wind of frost ran across the brothers' cheeks. "Come, let us return to our tent, the hour is late and we require rest."
"Upon the dawn, Generals." Cossutius saluted.
"Yes, upon the dawn, brothers! See that you bring caskets of wine!" Ardunas smiled with an odd display of warmth.
The brothers entered their tent with a welcoming exhale now that they were out of the cold. They both sat on their cots; a silence grew between them as their minds raced at the infinite unknowns that could occur tomorrow. A recurring thought for Proculus was how he must lead the Thracian cavalry in attacking the Briton cavalry and the siege weapons. The pressure was palpable. But he breathed easier, knowing that Oroles and Ligadis would be by his side. His brother on the other hand looked as if he had stopped breathing.
His dual-colored eyes did not leave the floor of the tent. "I never would have conceived it. Never. Two years ago, after the Civil War ended, Father took me upon an exercise with the Legion, he gave me a command of a century, and I was responsible for making sure all men had their gear, fell in line, listened to commands and I had to oversee their training and maneuvering. Brother, I hated it. I was 14 and thought I was brilliant, I thought it beneath me. I publicly smiled to Father and did as I was told; but within my heart I desired to march on horseback in front of the Legion, not march in stride with the legionaries near the back of the column. What I saw Father have, the respect of over 5,000 men, I've desired such command. More responsibility, I desired the legion. Not the limited command of a century. Now, my mind's been occupied about limited commands more and more. Maybe I should've enjoyed it more. Having command over 80 men, command over 300 men, it's…easier than 800, easier than 5,000. Easier to have someone tell you the plan instead of constructing one yourself. When you're told a plan and it fails, you can always shift the blame to the constructor, but when you are the constructor and it fails…"
Vitus wiped his face with his palm and sighed. Proculus sighed, His nerves. Despite everyone breaking words of encouragement, his nerves are still high. It's normal, Vitus, do not despair. Vitus looked up at him, noticing Proculus wielded an expression of amused confusion. "What?" Vitus asked him.
"Oh, nothing."
"What?"
"Oh…well, how many battles have been won with a smaller army against a larger one?"
"Many. The Greeks were famous for it. The Athenians crushed the Persians at Marathon. They again defeated them along the Straits of Salamis with their ships and on the fields of Plataea. Alexander of Macedon won many great victories with a smaller force; he even triumphed against Darius at the fields of Gaugamela with a third of Darius' army. We both know what Hannibal did, and then Scipio Africanus won at Zama with a smaller army. And even last year, the newsreaders spoke of Sulla's victory at Chaeronea, 40,000 Romans against 120,000 Pontus soldiers, and won."
"I see. And how many battles did armies win with a larger number?"
Vitus sucked his teeth, "More than those with fewer numbers."
"I thought so." Proculus chuckled weakly, "Vitus, do you remember on the eve of the Legion leaving Alesia? Do you recall my surprise at hearing 6,000 Romans facing 22,000 barbarians?"
"I do. Father was not pleased at your lack of faith."
"Looking back, I do not blame him. After witnessing Praxus Hill, after seeing how the men survived the Quarry Ambush, and how we took the fort with minimal casualties. I have come to take great pride in the Twenty-Eighth. They've always fought battles when they were often outnumbered, and they always won. No matter the odds, they won. With the right leadership, they can do anything."
Vitus began sniggering bitterly, "What? You believe now that we shall survive tomorrow?"
"Not a chance. I think we are all going to die."
Vitus scratched the back of his neck. "There's a chance of that, yes. You got any wine?"
"Of course," Proculus dug beneath his cot and pulled a goatskin pouch filled with Falernian. "Here, Falernian Grape. Very good."
He watched as Vitus took a small swig of the pouch, bitterly swallowing the wine, and laughing at the face he made after consumption. Hopefully his nerves are now settled…oh Vitus, it'll take you a decade before you can properly drink with me.
Proculus took the wine and effortless drank half the pouch, much to his brother's chagrin. The eldest exhaled heartily, "Do you recall the first time you supped wine?"
Vitus rolled his eyes with a snicker, "Why must you remind me as I drink? Of course, I was eleven and you coerced me to steal Father's cup for yourself. I tried to hide it when he came along so I swallowed the whole cup. I was sick to my stomach for so long."
Proculus began to laugh. "You were, your face was red as a beet!"
"And from what I remember, is that you stayed by my bedside the entire time I was sick. I never asked you for the reason."
"Why else? Guilt, I presume. I thought you were going to die; I could smell the wine on your breath and knew that you drank it. You were even smaller than you were now, a cup could have destroyed your body, and I would have lain in fault."
"Indeed it would have been. But thank the Gods I recovered and can still drink now."
"Quite right. You're not on my pedestal but at least you can hold it a bit better."
"I suppose. I may become a drunkard like you in the future."
"More than likely you shall, drink runs in our blood. Father drank steadily and from what he told us about our grandfather, he drank as hard as I do."
"Where is this coming from, Proculus? For what cause do you bring up stories of this?"
"I do not know. But, I believe that whenever you drink, something memorable happens between us. The first time you drank, you were bedridden and I was by your side. When you drank after the Praxus battle, we swore oaths to Orcus as brothers and experienced the first snow of winter. When you drank during the meeting with the Cherusci, we experienced the fragile art of negotiation among barbarians together. After the Ambush and we were lost in the blizzard…we drank…we fought and I…nearly killed you."
"Yes, that happened…"
"You still remember?"
"Couldn't forget if I wanted. We said many things."
"We spoke out of anger," the elder brother said.
"We spoke the truth."
"…We did. But did it have to be said?"
"I don't know."
"Me neither. But what I do know is what Oroles said when he told us his tale."
"Indeed. ' To make sure not one regret stays in your mind', correct?" Vitus told him.
"Exactly. If we are to perish, know that I am truly sorry for all that I've done to you and could do to you in the future. And for what I said in that cave. I spoke from the heart, but it was malicious and wrong."
"I accept. I offer apologies as well for all the wrong I've done to you and could do as well. Whatever our faults, we are brothers, Proculus. Nothing in this world or what the Gods could do can change that."
Proculus reclined back in his cot, his chest feeling lighter after his admission. He couldn't help but smile. "I'm honored, Vitus. But, with our odds, we probably shall walk the barley fields of Elysium tomorrow. But, I hear that if we make an outrageous promise to the Gods, they might allow us life."
After Proculus took another chug, he noticed Vitus eyeing him with a smirk, "I'm glad you mentioned that. Do you still have Father's totem that he gave you?"
"I do. For what purpose do I require that totem?"
"To speak to the Gods. Follow me."
Proculus followed his brother throughout the camp until they arrived at a smaller tent guarded by four legionaries. The brothers entered the dim tent; Proculus could smell incense burning and felt an odd serenity surrounding him. In the middle of the tent stood a shrine four feet tall and covered with candles. Proculus stammered softly, it was the same shrine from Praxus Hill.
"Vitus…you—"
"The oracles aided me in setting it up. Seeing that on the Battle of Praxus Hill, I could remember most of it." Vitus walked towards the shrine. "Proculus, do you recall what Father said about victory?"
He had to think back to what he told them, but he remembered. "Yes, it was along the lines that if we pray, we win."
"Exactly. Before the Legion marches, and before the Legion fights, Father prays to the Seven Gods of Total War. And he said that he prayed before every battle, and he won. The Briton Ambush, he never prayed that day, that is what his tent slaves told me. And he lost."
Proculus blinked depressingly at that theory. "Vitus…that theory is—do you truly—"
"I do," he said softly without batting an eye. "I ran this through my mind several times. Such is the only way. Father was a pious man; he blessed the Gods and the Gods blessed him with victory and laurels. The prophecy from the Gods on Praxus Hill was true, Cassius betrayed us. We require the Gods' blessing to win tomorrow."
"We do. But unfortunately we do not have a bull to sacrifice to provide us omens."
Vitus sighed, "Unfortunately not." He dug in his pouch and pulled out his personal totem, "But we do have these."
Proculus dug in his pouch and pulled out his totem as well. His eyes were lost in the carving of the totem's face, to think his Father spent hours carving the minutest detail into this small totem to resemble Proculus.
"The next best thing," Proculus said lowly, placing the totem on the shrine.
Vitus did the same. "This is how we can assure a victory for the Legion, either a Heroic one or a Pyrrhic."
The brothers kneeled together in front of the altar. Their minds drifted to the image of their father on the eve of the battle on Praxus Hill.
"You still remember the prayer?" Vitus asked, his eyes were focused on the shrine.
"Every word."
"Good. Father taught us the prayer for the seven deities of Total War, we must appease them."
"Ready when you are."
The brothers exhaled and spoke as one. "Oh merciful deities on high, we heed your wisdom and request with humble intent to bestow thy blessing upon us. Oh Jupiter, the God among Gods, who favors the greatest; grant us glory in our finest hour, for we can only attain glory if you so deliver unto us. Oh Mars, the God of War, grant us strength beyond strength; allow us to crush our enemies with strength and honor, allow them to know defeat at your hands. Oh Neptune, God of the Sea, grant us adaptability in the face of adversity, provide us calmness within the storm. Oh Vulcan, God of the Forge, grant us durability in the face of danger, temper our resolve as steel and our will as iron. Oh Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, grant us wisdom beyond our years; allow us to outthink the enemy, may they quiver from our intellect. Oh Mercury, God of Travelers, grant us rapidity beyond the swift, allow us to strike fast with precision and deception. Oh Fortuna, the Goddess of Fortune, grant us reward for our bold endeavors; may our victory be bestowed by your blessing, may all risk be rewarded in this life or the next. Oh Gods and Goddesses of Olympus, oh Gods and Goddesses above, we beseech you for your blessings."
The brothers bowed in front of the shrine, their foreheads kissing the ground for a solid minute as they continued to pray. They rose back into a kneeling position and exhaled once more. This was it, the most vital part of their prayer. They both considered Proculus' idea of making outrageous promises to the Gods in hopes of attaining victory. It was always told that the Gods interact with the pitiable fools who beseeched them with impossibilities, so why not them.
Proculus closed his eyes and raised his arms. All his father ever wanted out of Proculus was to make him a man worthy of respect. All his life, that was Lucius' goal with his eldest son. And how did he reward his Father's efforts? I became a whoremonger drunkard, embarrassing his family name, betraying all those that I love. Father…Mother…Brother…Uncle…Appia…
"If the Gods grant us victory and grant me life upon the end of the battle; I, Proculus Julius, vow to become a Man of the Julii, honoring my Father's name, I vow to become a better man and husband. This I swear." Proculus drew his dagger and cut his palm, and squeezed his blood on his totem.
Vitus looked at him with a raised brow, "Truly? That's your 'outrageous' promise?"
"It's the best I could think of. But it's earnest."
"Alright. If the Gods grant us victory and grant me life upon the end of the battle; I, Vitus Julius, vow to take up the sword of my Father, Lucius Julius. I vow to honor his legacy and fight for the rest of my days with strength and honor. This I swear." Vitus drew his dagger and cut his palm, and squeezed his blood on his totem.
"Really? 'Outrageous'?"
"Silence."
They squeezed more blood on their respective totems and clenched their eyes, imagining they were on Olympus themselves, staring into the beautiful face of their ancestor, Venus. The brothers moved their lips, and spoke the revered Prayer of the Julii. As the eldest, Proculus was first to speak.
"Oh Mother Venus, the most loving and fertile of the Gods, with favor upon you, watch over your sons in the coming turmoil. Watch over your sons who shall awarded your name with prestige and piety. For we are the Julii."
Vitus spoke next, "Oh Mother Venus, the most compassionate and fair, shield us with your warmth and your love. We, who carry your blood through our veins, we ask you to shield us from harm as you did our ancestor, Aeneas, your most valorous son. For we are the Julii."
Proculus started again, "Oh Mother Venus, the sweet and forgiving, we come to you in loving prayer with gratitude in our voices, for it was you who elevated the Julii into their station today with your loving blessings. For we are the Julii."
Vitus said once more, "Oh Mother Venus, the wonderful and munificent, we of the Julii, your favored and most devoted clan, entreat your mercy upon us. Your praise shall continuously be on our tongue as the All-Mother and Birth-Giver who created Rome. We can and shall do all things through your power because it is you who strengthens us. For we are the Julii."
"For we are the Julii, the Sons of Venus."
"For we are the Julii, the Founders of Rome."
"For we are the Julii, the Swords on the Hill."
"For we are the Julii, the Shields of the North."
The brothers finished their prayer as one, "Long live the glorious Republic of Rome and long live the Julii that grants Rome her strength."
The final battle is among us...
YES! Finally, the next chapter is 3 years in the making, next chap will deal with Samarobriva between Rome and Barbarians. YES! *Doing my Happy Dance*
*In case some you were wondering, when Ardunas was replying to Proculus who said he had too much lust, Ardunas said "The Snake and the Crab". The Snake and the Crab is an old Greek idiom with the modern equivalent to "The Pot calling the Kettle black". Essentially, Ardunas is saying that Proculus has the same issue of lust that he does.
I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!
-Kanuro5