The general sat at a small table in the corner of the mess hall, looking over the list of the ones sick with the illness. There were about seventeen down with the disease, and several more showing threatening symptoms.
He had spent all day researching the records from other legions, hoping to find some sort of cure or something that could dull the burning of the sores that flecked the soldiers' skin. But, although other camps had been experiencing the same thing, as of yet, there was no cure.
He sighed as he heard footsteps approach from behind him, and slowly set the recording scrolls down. He knew who had come.
Earlier that day, he had done something he was now regretting. He had yelled at Marcus. In his defense, the Centurion had been showing insubordination, and he had gotten away with a lesser punishment than most would get. He should know to watch his mouth.
Then again, Marcus was his friend. His only friend, essentially. When he was promoted to general, they had promised not to treat each other as leader and soldier, unless they were in front of the men. Which, they had been, Octavius thought to himself. No matter how much of a good leader he tried to be, he had to show that he would not yield to such behavior.
Still, he understood the Centurion's fears. The cowboy was indeed a tricky case. Octavius knew he was not just some Western warrior, like the others. He was the leader of the men on this front. He would probably use this chance to escape. Most people would.
But then, the cowboy seemed to show honour. There was no honour in leaving his men behind while he himself was free. The general knew he would not do such a thing. But if the cowboy leader did manage to escape, he could come back with a large party of men and take them back with force….
The general glanced up as he heard someone clearing their throat.
"You summoned, sir?" Marcus said, putting emphasis on the last word.
Octavius winced at his tone, and nodded. "Yes, I did. Please, sit down, Marcus."
The centurion saluted stiffly, and sat down across from his general, his eyes staring at the wall above him.
"Marcus, you do not have to behave like this." Octavius said, not wishing to converse on hard terms.
"I must protest, sir." Marcus said levely, refusing to meet his gaze. "I am a professional soldier, and obey the orders of my general, General Octavius."
"Marcus, please. For the sake of our friendship please!"
Marcus was silent for a moment, before sighing and bowing his head. "Forgive me, Octavius. My actions were unjust."
"As were mine, Marcus."
They were both silent for a moment, before Octavius spoke up, waving for the attention of the mess tent's cook.
"Care for a drink?" He asked Marcus, hoping to open his friend's mind a little before he told him what he had to. "On me?"
"I suppose…." Marcus said cautiously, scratching his chin.
"Two glasses of wine, please." Octavius asked, smiling. "And you can get one for yourself, add it to what I owe you for this evening."
After the cook had left to do his general's bidding, Octavius turned back to Marcus.
"Now. I understand you had oppositions to my decision to let the cowboy leader go?"
Marcus hesitated for a moment, nodding slowly. "I did. And if I may say, I still do."
"Since we are not under the gaze of the men," Octavius began, leaning back slightly as he watched his friend. "Explain your concerns."
The Centurion took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
"Octavius, I know you have a good heart. That is one of the things that I like about you. You show more mercy and compassion than I think, at times, is healthy. If the Senate found out about less than half of the things you have done….there would be dire consequences. Which is why I fear letting the cowboy free like you have done." Marcus took another moment to think. "I think, Octavius, letting him go may have crossed the line."
"Oh?" Octavius asked, keen to hear what his fellow soldier thought was so terrible about his idea.
"The men know the cowboy was here. Some of them could be spies-"
"Spies?" Octavius asked, frowning. He set his wineglass down, staring across at his friend. "Spies? Amongst my men? I am afraid you are mistaken. The men of this legion are some of the best, most honourable men I have ever led. They are loyal to me. To us."
"No," Marcus protested softly, giving a small shake of his head."They follow us. They are loyal to Rome. You know how sneaky the Senate is. They will know of everything you do."
"Marcus, I highly doubt this….thought, that there are spies in this camp. What sense does it make?"
"Octavius," Marcus said, desperate for his friend to listen to him. "I fear you are blinded by your will to do good and cannot see the evil that lurks in the hearts of some. Not all people deserve your kindness. You cannot blindly place your trust in everyone."
"I am not blinded by murge to do well!" Octavius snapped, angry at such an accusation. "I just cannot stand this war! What are we fighting for anyway!? Land? Money? Do we not have enough of that!?"
"Octavius, he Senate sees this war not through our eyes. They see new, rich lands that have not yet been touched by our great Empire."
"Rome is corrupted." Octavius growled, his anger growing into a burning blaze. "The Senate is full of nothing but thieving, lying politicians, with interests aside from filling their pockets at the expense of blood! Our blood and the blood of the enemies we so heartlessly attacked in their pursuit of power!"
"Keep your voice down!" Marcus hissed, grabbing his general's tunic collar. He stared intenty at him for a moment, until he was sure he was calm again. "Octavius, myself and many others admire your goodness. But you cannot just go around shouting about the Senate. You know what they will do to you if they ever heard what you have said. And if they knew what you have done." Marcus lowered his voice even more, casting his eyes around the room. "If word of the cowboy leader's release reaches them, they will will take you. They will execute you. And torture you. Humiliate you…..take you away from me."
Octavius was silent, for he knew his friend was right. He looked at the table in frustration. How could he lead his men effectively with the Senate always looming over his shoulder?
"They do not trust me, because of my father." Octavius said, sighing deeply. "They do not understand I am not my father. I have no wish to rule Rome. It would be better if the Senate was gone, but I could not achieve such a feat."
Marcus reached across the table and gave his general a friendly shake on the shoulder. "I understand, Octavius."
"But," The general said, taking a deep, weary breath. "I believe my decision to free the cowboy was the right one. He will return, as he promised."
"And….if he does not?" Marcus asked, still on edge about freeing their enemy.
"He will." Octavius insisted. "There is something about him, that tells me I can trust him. Rely on him."
Marcus couldn't help but crack a smirk. "Do you hear yourself, Octavius?" He asked, shaking his head. "He is our enemy. There is nothing but hate for us in his heart. You must stop this hopeful nonsense and open your eyes to the real world."
Octavius went to protest, but was stopped by a deep rumble outside, and a voice screaming out into the night.
"SOUND THE TRUMPETS! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"