"Do you trust him?"
"Huh?" Octavius asked, turning to his subordinate.
"Do you trust him to leave our camp with a horse, sir." Marcus repeated, glancing anxiously from his general to the figure on the horse near the front gate.
"I believe he can be trusted," The general said, also watching the man closely. It was true he did indeed trust the man, but only to a certain degree. He trusted he would return to the camp and give up the chance to escape for the sake of his men, but he would not trust him with, say, a weapon or anything like that. But he did refrain from using the torch for escape... "Besides," He said quickly hoping to convince himself as well as his centurion of the man's trustworthiness. "We have a small detachment of cavalry with him. If he tried to make a break for it, he will not get far."
Marcus nodded his understanding but still stood tensed, in case the prisoner attempted to flee as soon as he mounted. He watched, hand on his sword hilt, as the man mounted the beast, but surprisingly stayed where it was. He turned towards them and raised a hand in general farewell. That's when Marcus realized his general was no longer beside him, but walking towards the man. After a moment's hesitation Marcus hurriedly followed.
"Do you have enough provisions?" Octavius asked, glancing at the pack that hung fastened onto the horse's side.
"I reckin' so." Jedediah replied, patting it one last time to be sure. "My camp ain't that far."
"And, you are sure about this," Octavius asked with a hint of worry. "I know not how your people might handle you turning up with Roman soldiers."
"Relax," The cowboy replied, waving the idea away. "Soon as I 'xplain it all they'll listen."
"And, we are still in agreement? No information of our location is to be disclosed?" Asked the general urgently.
"Yup. An' ya swear ya won't attack us?"
"You have my word," Octavius promised, bowing slightly.
With a slight smile the cowboy turned forwards again, and as soon as the men of the cavalry cohort were around him, he firmly drove his heels into the horse's side, and was off.
As Octavius watched him go he couldn't help but worry. There was always the possibility he'd be betrayed. It was more than a possibility; it was the most probable outcome. It wouldn't take much for the cowboy to bolt from the group as soon as he got the chance. Then again, he there was a small part of him that believed, no matter what, he would return. Probably for his men.
"Sir," Marcus said from beside him, uncertainty in his eyes.
"Yes, Marcus?" He asked, turning to face him.
The centurion seemed a little uncomfortable under his gaze, leaving the general wondering just what he had to say.
Marcus took a breath before speaking. "Sir, about what is going on,"
"What about it?"
"Well- I would like to know." The centurion said, playing with the straps of his helmet which he held in the bend of his arm.
"It does not concern you." Octavius replied curtly, turning back to the gate and watching the figures disappear over the crest of a hill.
"But sir, I thought-"
"You thought what? That I would share everything with you?" Octavius snapped, whirling to face his centurion.
"Well, yes but-"
"But what? If it does not concern you, do not bother with it. Now hush and see to your duties." The general said, his gaze hard and his voice harsh.
"But-"
"Back to your duties, Centurion." Octavius ordered, his expression cold and angry. "And do not speak unless you have been told."
With a sigh Marcus turned away, and walked a few steps before he paused, standing straight. "I thought we were friends once," He shot over his shoulder, a sad look in his eyes. "But now I see where you stand."
The general did not reply. There was no need to. The Roman army demanded loyalty and obedience, and Marcus' place was one below his own. He did not have to answer to him. Without a word Octavius turned towards his quarters, intending to catch a few hours' rest before the day's duties began, but paused, turning towards the sound of coughing. He quickly altered his course and headed for the Medic's tent. When he reached it he paused outside the entrance, and slowly drew back the flap, careful not to let too much sunlight enter so it wouldn't burn tired, sore eyes. His gaze swept over the men lying on small cots within, and quickly walked to the other end of the tent, where Lucius stood hunched over one of the men.
"Lucius?" He asked, stopping a few paces away.
The Medic's head shot up, and he glanced behind him at his general, before stepping back. "Oh thank the gods you're here!" He said, bending down to dip the cloth he'd been holding in a bowl of warm water.
"What is going on?"
"There has been a terrible amelioration! The disease seems to have created a new symptom!" While he said this, Lucius dabbed roughly on the soldier's arm, heedless of his pained flinching.
Octavius took a step forwards to see what the Medic meant, and had to look away, fighting down his urge to retch at the sight. A blister, the size of a child's palm, protruded from the red, irritated skin on the man's arm. The general cringed.
"Tell me it is not what I think it is..." He said quietly, a great fear in his eyes.
Lucius nodded, a deep frown on his face. "It is the plague."
"Plague..." Octavius repeated, his gaze distant for a moment. The plague...the evil illness...come to strike his life again. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down the pure emotion of the moment. Remembering the small, fleeing boy who ran from the tainted, burning streets of his village, praying that he would never come face to face with the menace again. And here it was now, taking the lives of his men.
"How many have these symptoms?"
"Well..." Lucius hesitated, then gulped. "All of them..."
Silence. And then, a fist slamming down on the side of the cot. The general stormed out, walking straight to his tent. There was nothing he could do. There was no cure for this, he knew. And he couldn't spare any supplies to find one. He'd have to act if he wanted to save his camp. He sent for a messenger, and a moment later he came in.
"Sir?" He asked, saluting smartly.
"Tell Lucius that all infected men are to be put in isolation. They are not to be touched, or bothered."
The man looked confused. "Infected, sir?"
"Just do it!"
The man quickly ran out, heading for the hospital tent. And Octavius sat and wondered what he coud possibly do next.