From Kanuro5: I truly appreciate all of you who are still reading this fic and for those who leave reviews! Thank you for your support and I want you to know that your support keeps me going! Once again, I apologize for these monthly updates, college life is keeping me busy, but the next few chapters "should" be produced rather quickly.
VII
Veni
Day 16 of the Campaign
The day had finally arrived for Vitus to leave the tent of the medicus. After a week of resting, his arrow wound in his chest had finally healed well enough where he could walk around without the risk of reopening the wound. The medicus performed one last routine checkup on the young man before sending him out of the medical tent, warning him not to perform anything strenuous. The first person that Vitus visited was his father.
Vitus made his way through camp and entered Lucius' luxurious tent where his father was alone studying a map and contemplating the legion's next movement. His father looked up towards his son's presence before him and walked over to his son with open arms.
"My son, you can move again!" his father smiled as he unknowingly crushed his son in his embrace.
"Yes father; although you crushing me may reopen my wound," Vitus wheezed.
Lucius placed his favorite son down and brushed him off, "You are looking well, how does your wound fare?"
"I will not lie, it feels sore below my breast but I feel no pain, the medicus provided most wonderful aid."
"I would hope so, I paid top coin for the best in my legion," the father boasted.
"Speaking of the legion; how is our progress?"
"A little slow, but such is necessary cause to prevent falling in the clutches of another ambush."
"There was another ambush?" Vitus asked.
"There was, and it was different. Two days ago, 20 men from the Auxilia sprung an ambush of 50 Gauls—"
"Gauls?! But did you not wipe them out years ago?"
"This tribe was relatively obscure when I waged war on the Gauls; I have not even heard of them before Totates, the mercenary barbarian cavalry leader, mentioned them. Apparently, with the annihilation of all the stronger tribes; the Candevaci is now the sole remaining tribe of Gaul, and also the most peaceful. They are of no threat."
"They uphold the notion of peace yet they attack us? I do not believe such actions notion the warrants of peace," the son interjected.
"What you said holds true, and in two days' time, we will march upon their lands."
"And what shall befall them?" Vitus asked his scheming father.
"Like all who dare oppose Rome, they shall fall by the sword," Lucius growled with conviction.
"All of them?"
"All of them."
"But father, that…that seems excessive to put ever surviving man, woman, and child to the sword, do you not think so?" Vitus weakly muttered, not wanting to offend his father. Lucius chuckled and walked over to his son to pat him on the back.
"Oh my son, still yearning to use diplomacy over force." Lucius stared into his son's compassionate dual-colored eyes, "You will learn in this life that force is more necessary than diplomacy."
"But father, how do we know exactly that this tribe's attack was malice induced, they might have not known that we were Romans."
Lucius grinned at his son's remark and tossed him a Roman denarius, "You hold a denarius in your hand, which was found on the body of the dead Gauls. Marcus crossed paths with this tribe one year ago and has established a trade agreement with the Candevaci. He would pay them for goods to sustain his army with such luxuries as food and water. Vitus, they have aligned themselves with Rome and broke that alliance when they attacked. That is there maliciousness."
"Wait, does it not seem strange that they would break their alliance now by attacking us instead of striking Marcus with the rest of the barbarians?" Vitus cleverly asked.
Lucius scratched his chin and paced around the tent, "Such question strikes me with concern as well. It would have been most opportune time to attack the Praetor a year ago; but this is now irrelevant in light of ambush. They attacked my legion and now I shall set upon them."
"You will not even try to figure out reason behind such attack?"
"What reason could you find in the mind of a base animal?"
"Father, not all barbarians have the mind of animals; they are intellectually strong in their own way that we Romans cannot comprehend," Vitus earnestly told his self-righteous father.
Lucius once again laughed at his son's "premature" notion, "Ah Vitus, you give too much honor and praise to the barbarians; far more than they ever deserve. Their fighting prowess is the only side of them that should be recognized, but anything other than such should be cast out of your mind."
"The ambush, what became of it? How many men perished?"
Lucius' smile quickly evaporated. "Only one man died from the ambush, he wasn't even Roman; I sent the Auxilia to lure out the barbarians; and only one Thracian died in the ambush."
"Wait; was the one Thracian, Oroles?" Vitus asked in concern.
Lucius gave a confused, yet irate stare to his son, "No it wasn't, just a lowly soldier," Lucius scoffed. Vitus breathed easier, loud enough for Lucius to hear, much to his chagrin. "Where does such concern for the Thracians lie?" he asked his son
"No reason!" Vitus blurted out, not wanting to earn the ire of his father, "It is just…they are skilled warriors and it would be especially unfortunate to lose them in battle; especially Oroles."
"Do not, speak of that man," Lucius growled with fire in his eyes. Such fire has never been seen in his father's eyes since Vitus was framed for the theft of his father's horse. And this same stare that once plagued Vitus for a whole year, had once again terrified young Vitus. If he dared mentioned Oroles' name again and if Vitus wasn't Lucius' son; Vitus imagined that his father would actually kill him on the spot. Vitus wisely changed the subject.
"So, what will be you're plan for the tribe, to be precise?" Vitus asked, his eyes still refusing to meet his father's gaze.
"Once we reach their village, I will send an emissary to the tribe chieftain so that he may expect my arrival."
"You will visit the chieftain, instead of him coming to you?"
"I will seek to show him…respect at first; capturing his heart with thoughts of diplomacy; to understand what provoked attack."
"And then…what? Will you destroy them?" Vitus asked, the fear of his question was evident.
"Like how the Greeks destroyed the Trojans," Lucius calmly stated.
"Father…this is not right."
Lucius looked at his son with one eyebrow raised as if it was a joke, "'Not right'. Why is it not? I have the power to destroy the last settlement of our clan's longest enemies. And you say that it is not right?"
"There must exist another way than destroying an entire people? Even you said that they were not a threat" Vitus asked hopingly.
"Why do you care whether they live or die, they are our enemies."
"You are not wrong, father. They need to be dealt with…but…destroying an entire people? It's…it's—"
"The only way to ensure peace," Lucius added to his sentence. "I destroyed the Spanish, and now we control all of Hispania and no longer will they attack the territories of Rome. Every civilization will come to its deserved end."
"Including ours," Vitus shrewdly added under his breath. Lucius snapped his head at the comment.
"I am not liking your thoughts on the situation with the Gauls," the stern father said, rather suspicious of his son.
"I just do not want to see them all destroyed, you can arrange some sort of peace can you not, father?" Vitus asked with beseeching eyes. Lucius laughed darkly, with more irritation in his tone than humor.
"Do you think war is a jest?" he asked waving his hands in the air, "I know Proculus does, but you? I taught you better. I taught you, that war ends when one nation stands over the last settlement and burns the banner of their enemies and their existence in this world is no more. The only way to seek "peace" is through obliteration. Rome will never be safe as long as our enemies exists! They must be destroyed so Rome can rule all the lands in peace!" Lucius growled.
"And when there's no one left to fight? What then, father?"
Lucius chuckled and stared deep into his son's dual-colored eyes, "There is always someone left to fight. Remember that."
"I do not believe that to be true!" Vitus replied with conviction, all the thoughts that Vitus repressed over the years about war was surging out. "It all has to cease one day! I mean, can you even tell me why we are fighting the Gauls, Germans, and Britons?! Can you tell me? Why have we been engaged in this war with them for over a century? Are we here for 'The Glory of the Republic'? Because if so than I see no glory to be had where we invade lands belonging to these people and slaughter them like cattle. Why can we not settle past dispute of a century ago and turn hopeful eyes to the future? And you say that there is always some to fight, to think that such savagery is the root of peace is nothing of a fool's notion!"
Without even thinking, Lucius swung his arm out and smacked Vitus in the mouth, hurtling the youth to the ground. He stood over his son, fuming with anger. Was his son always this naïve about how the world worked? He taught him that war was a necessity for years and now that he is in a campaign, he clamors for peace?! With barbarians, no; with Gauls no less! The only peace that befitted them was a blade through their cold, savage hearts!
"You dare call me a fool?!" Lucius snapped at his cowering son who was lying on the ground, "You call my whole life a foolish notion?! Do you know what I have sacrificed to be in this position?! To be the Heir of the Julii, do you know what I had to do to earn such laurels?! I have worked, I have slaved, eaten untold amounts of shit from the Senate and from within our own family to get from where I was to where I am now! All my life I had to struggle to obtain the laurels, wealth, and power that I now hold; and I have done many great things for the Senate, the Republic, and especially our clan of the Julii. And you, my son that I believed will rise above my station, who I believed would eclipse me in the future, you," he condemned by pointing at his son with his meaty finger, "You! You would say that it was all a FOOLISH NOTION?!"
The cold, sharp eyes of Lucius gleamed down disgustedly on his son who lied on the floor trembling with primal fear. A small amount of blood dribbled down his chin from his busted lip, but Vitus could not feel the numbing sensation of his bottom lip. He only felt the foreign fear of his father that has been long forgotten in his mind. The blind, seething anger that his father would often turn on his elder brother, Proculus, was now directed at Vitus. Vitus couldn't utter a word whilst he was under his father's titan-like scowl, a scowl that only a select few men who have waged war for years could only hope to possess. The scowl that held clear murderous intent that could unravel the gods from their thrones in the heavens. And this scowl was now directed on him, all he could do was tremble and hope that his father would not kill him.
Seeing his small, frail son lying on the ground quivering in his fear somehow made the rage in Lucius subside for the moment. Was it the sight of his son acting pathetic that calmed him? Or how his son looked up at him like a loyal dog that was struck would look up to his master as if betrayed? Lucius could not determine why he calmed down, he just did. He sighed and rubbed his hand into his face and in a monotone, spoke to Vitus.
"Rise to your feet my son. I…I will give you my word that I will not destroy the Gauls. I swear so as Jupiter as my witness."
Vitus remained on the ground in disbelief. He didn't know whether to believe that his father was sincere in his word, or that his father actually struck him. Regardless, Vitus decided that this was the best opportunity to leave. He stood up to his feet, still wobbling from the hit while wiping the blood off his lips. His eyes still remained locked on his father, not wanting to turn his back on him. Vitus looked to his feet and muttered, "Gratitude…father." He then left his father's tent in disbelief that his own father had hit him, and repeatedly asked himself why he even visited his father in the first place; not remembering that he went to show his father that he was healed from the ambush one week ago.
One hour later, inside the Thracian part of the Auxilia camp, the men sat around a warm fire as they sharpened their blades and told stories of past battles. Their remembrance of former glories came to an abrupt end where a young Thracian alerted them of Vitus' arrival.
"Everyone, the Commander approaches!" the Thracian said with pure excitement.
The Thracians at the fire quickly rose to their feet at attention when Vitus arrived on horseback. Normally, the Thracians would be slow in rising for any Roman with the title of Centurion or higher approaching, but hearing stories of Vitus' generosity towards them and the actual giving better food for them; the Thracians stood in respect towards the young Commander.
"Commander, welcome to Auxilia camp," Ligadis saluted with pride.
"Gratitude for the welcome soldier, apologies but I do not know your name?" he humbly inquired as he leapt off of his giant horse, Romulus.
"I am Ligadis. Oroles' second," he said, surprised that the Commander seemed to genuinely care about him, "What may I be tasked to help you—"
"Commander! It is most fortunate to see you again!" Drenis, the youngest Thracian, shouted as he ran towards Vitus.
"Show proper respect, boy!" Ligadis snapped at him.
"There shall be no need," Vitus chuckled, "I remember you; you were that one Thracian arguing about the food days ago. I recall your name being…um…uh, Drenis!"
"That is correct Commander," an excited Drenis confirmed. "I will take your horse, Commander."
"Thank you Drenis. Thank you all for such warm embrace. Now Ligadis, where can I find Oroles?"
Ligadis excitement grew somber at the question, "He is at the far edge of camp, Commander. He is still in the period of mourning and has wished to isolate himself from us."
"Is this because of the ambush?"
"It is, Commander. But, if it is you, than I think you may go speak to him," Ligadis smiled.
Vitus thanked the Thracians and promptly made his way to the edge of camp; where he spotted Oroles peacefully sitting on a large rock, deep in thought, watching the majestic sunset descend into the forest. Before Vitus came within 20 yards from him, Oroles called out in a sigh, "Who is the one sneaking from behind?"
"How did you know that I approached?" Vitus chuckled in utter amazement.
Oroles slowly spun around and greeted Vitus with a warm smirk, "Commander! I did not know that you were coming."
"No, remain sitting as you are. But tell me, how did you know I was behind you from such a distance?" Vitus asked, sitting on a large tree stump next to Oroles.
"Years of hunting and war have sharped senses; besides, you have a unique smell," the Thracian Commander joked.
Vitus took a minute to smell himself over and remarked, "I do not smell anything unusual."
"That is because the scent is your own; you are accustomed to it; like all men are." Vitus shook his head in astonishment; this man had the eyes of a wolf and the nose to match. "So how are your wounds?" Oroles asked.
Vitus instinctively moved his hand to the spot where he was wounded to gauge the recovery. "Magnificent. I feel better than the time you saw me. The medicus said I could now walk without reopening the wound, but sadly, I may await another week to fight."
"It lifts heart to hear of your recovery, now what about your other wound?"
"What other wound?"
"The swelling on your cheek, next to your lips," the Auxilia commander pointed out.
Vitus felt the small swollen bruise on his cheek and the numbing sensation he felt when his fingers touched the bruise. He sucked his teeth, and looked at Oroles whose cold blue eyes were looking into the very root of Vitus' soul as if to see whether he would tell the truth or tell a lie. Vitus instinctively removed his hand and stuttered, "Um, I-I-I…I do not know."
Oroles continued to focus his sharp gaze on the lying Roman, but quickly shrugged away his suspicion as if nothing was wrong. Vitus didn't know why, but he breathed easier when Oroles blew off the bruise, despite his whole reason for wanting to see Oroles was to talk about his father striking him. Yet he could not bring himself of admitting the embarrassment of being hit by own his father and decided to talk to the Thracian another day about it.
"So what is the nature of your visit?" Oroles said, sensing that something was wrong was with the young Roman. Vitus took some time to think about it. Where to start? Was it appropriate to complain to a man who lost a friend in battle that your father showed his true colors as a warmonger and how he was beaten by his father and how when he received his last beating it was just two years ago?
"It was…uh…I, um, I heard of the ambush…two days ago and that you lost a soldier," Vitus hesitantly spoke up. He could see Oroles' face slightly cringe on the subject. Vitus awkwardly continued, "I came to offer counsel if…if you, uh, need it."
Oroles solemnly sighed and scratched his shaggy beard in contemplation of whether or not to talk about it. He instinctively fondled the second sword on his belt, as if trying to ask the deceased if he the right to converse about his demise. Vitus took note of the second sword.
"I do not recall you using a second sword," Vitus spoke up, uneasy about Oroles' silence.
Oroles looked at the sword's handle and tenderly felt the notches engraved upon the leather, "This sword is not myown, it belonged to Iphidamus."
"Iphidamus? Who…was he, the one who was killed?"
"…He was."
"Apologies on the matter of—"
"What merit do you have to apologize for?" Oroles barked at the young Roman.
"I-I-I meant for the…uh, I meant no offense," he awkwardly stammered, "Maybe, uh, if I was well and I was there for the ambush…maybe with luck I could have—"
"Cease with the talk of luck or presence at the fight. There was nothing for any man to have done that would have changed Iphidamas' death at the battle. There is nothing in this fragile life of ours that is in our control."
"Well maybe…if I was present—" Vitus insisted, only for him to be cut off by Oroles' stare; a rustic stare that held the emotions of shame and anger fluidly mixed together. Vitus promptly fell silent. To endure two death glares within an hour was absolutely unbearable.
"A gust of wind blows at the right moment and takes a loosed arrow one meter farther and falls harmlessly behind you; or the wind may push the arrow far enough where it'll enter your chest. It rains on the eve of the battle, causing dirt to loosen into mud and thus preventing the use of cavalry from trampling you to death, or maybe the rains stop an hour early and the ground is hard enough to permit the use of cavalry. Such events are constantly random and no being in this world holds the strength or will to change it."
"I do not believe such events are random," Vitus rebutted, "The Gods have their hands in it." Oroles once again coldly stared at him, causing Vitus' jaw to drop. "You do not believe in the Gods?" Vitus asked, almost hurt by the revelation.
"Why should I place such faith in beings that view us as mindless flocks of sheep?" Oroles asked, almost chuckling in a minor attempt to humor Vitus' question.
"They do not view us as such; they show their works and powers to those that deserve it most."
"So for the starving man in Rome that begs off the street for meager pieces of bread to feed his family that is starving with him; are his cries for help not most deserved? Or better yet, a slave that is cruelly ripped from his past life of freedom and love; and is forced to work the mines of Rome underneath his master's whip, knowing well that he shall never see his homeland or his family again. Does he not deserve deliverance?"
Vitus quickly became flustered with the tough questions; nobody had ever asked him questions like this. "I-I-I mean…it does…it does not work that way…it is upon, uh, it is…the Gods will not answer to that…you need to…uh, they will provide appropriate strength and guidance for you; so that you may see yourself past your struggles." Oroles chuckled loudly and callously pointed at the young naïve Roman.
"You are not even aware of the hypocrisy that flows from your tongue," the Thracian said, his voice hinging on disappointment, "By your words, the gods will help the weak and suffering with good fortune; but the weak must first help themselves from their own misfortunes? Why must they fight for life if they are just living to fight? Why should they bother to see when there is nothing in sight? So either we are all fools or the Gods are heartless; either way, I have no use for them."
Vitus' face fell once again. He has never met any man who would have the gall to openly admit that he did not believe in the Gods. After all that was said, Vitus began to reflect on the wisdom of Oroles' questions. Blasphemous as it was, but wise and thoughtful questions none of the less. Questions that even the priests would probably have a challenge answering. Despite these questions, the amount of blasphemy spoken by Oroles scared Vitus. Vitus subconsciously took a step back, thinking that Jupiter would strike the Thracian down with a bolt of lightning. But no lightning bolt came; the only thing that arrived was an awkward silence.
"How did we even broach such subject?" Oroles chuckled to Vitus, thankfully breaking the silence.
"You were breaking words on your friend…Iphidamas…and his sword that you carry. Why do you carry his sword? Out of guilt?"
"Out of tradition," Oroles explained, fondling the leather hilt of the sword, "When a Thracian fails to protect his brothers of war; he must carry the fallen's sword with him for three entire days; keeping the burden of the death within his breast, thus vowing for him to be better."
"That is...incredible," he said with a smile on his face, completely enamored of such lore of a tribal people, "Was this common in all Thracian culture, or did it find creation within the Getae?"
"It does not stem from the Getae directly, but from my own village. Such traditions were created by Entherius the Stoic of the Getae in our village. He was a great warrior said to be born of the mountain wolf that rivaled the great she-wolf that nursed Rome's founders, Romulus and Remus. He was one of the finest warriors of the Getae, rivaling the Getae king of old, Dromichaetes. He believed that no battle was ever won by one warrior, and that an army was just as strong as the man that leads them. We keep the swords of those brave souls who fell in battle as proper tribute to them, thus is the way of my village."
"That is impressive. You hold such luscious tales of the history of your own village." Vitus' bright mood suddenly dampened, "I am not fortunate to hold such knowledge of my own place of birth."
"What can you tell me about your home?"
Vitus chuckled weakly, as if convinced that his story was not worth telling, "What home? When I came into this world, my father was always on campaigns and my mother always insisted on being by his side to fulfill role as dutiful wife. My family was always moving around, never truly settling down anywhere. The longest we stayed was at Arretium, the Julii capital, for six years. My elder brother, Proculus, stayed in Arretium longer than I."
"I heard the General talk about his eldest son, yet after a while he ceased. What is your brother like?"
"He is tall, strong, blessed by the Gods for his handsomeness. He can talk to a crowd and is an animal when it comes to celebrations. He could down crates of wine before an elephant could. He was adored by my parents and he would make a natural warrior by your standards."
"Yet the tone of your voice says that you express doubt," Oroles said, "Do you not think yourself on your brother's caliber?"
"Take precious look at me! I am short for my age, I am frail as a twig, it is most fortunate that my armor fits me at all! My elder brother is the base image of how a future Roman general should resemble, not me," Vitus sighed, remembering all the past frustrations that he endured about his childhood. "I had to work hard and apply myself to knowledge of all things that are war, to get even a drop of true love from my father, and this was before I was eleven. My brother began to grow distant with his responsibilities, so my father began showing favorable interest in me."
"Your father never showed proper interest in you?" Oroles asked, confused that anyone would ignore such fine qualities of Vitus.
"As I grew, my father spent most of his time with this legion. When he did arrive to our family, his thoughts were more turned to warfare than that of his family. He was sometimes distant and harsh in our upbringing. When I finally won his favor," Vitus began to chuckle, "It was a glorious moment from the heavens. We broke words as amiable father and son; we shared laughter and memories; it was truly wonderful. But as I moved to the position as favorable son, it brought forth the unexpected pressures of greatness. I was constantly expected to be "The Shining Prodigy of the Heir to the Julii"," Vitus said as he waved his hands in the air for emphasis, "Always expected to keep up the base image of the perfect Roman; while my elder brother took proper advantage of my position as proper son and partook in foolery with wine and women, leaving me the burden of holding the honor of my father; whilst he enjoys the freedoms of fun."
"You believe that your father's approval of you is of vital importance?"
"It is everything to me!" Vitus snapped, not knowing the volume of his voice, "I have not truly known my father until five years ago! I have received such love from my father that it warms the heart that beats underneath my breast. It may bring such complications as a standard for me to live by, but such is worth the love of my father."
Oroles discreetly shook his head. What an intelligent, yet naïve boy. Despite being his son, Vitus did not know anything about his father Lucius. He could not comprehend how his father's interest could change in a heartbeat, especially when it came to furthering his own ambition. It was almost tragic, Oroles began to imagine, that this boy had to live up to his father's standards and will never truly reach them in his attempt.
It was in this relative silence that Vitus began to ponder why his father gave him a deathly scowl during the mention of Oroles' name. Looking back, his father never truly appreciated the Auxilia; especially Oroles…Did something happen between these men? Was it something serious?
"Oroles?" Vitus asked with uncertainty, "Did something occur between you and my father?"
The Thracian stared at Vitus with a raised brow, contemplating why of all questions that Vitus would ask him that. The one question, that the General forbade Oroles to tell anyone in his life. With a calm demeanor, he said to the young Roman, "Did your father broach such subject with you?"
"No, he never broke words with me upon subject."
Oroles figured that much. Why should he talk to the man's son if the man never talked to his own son about it? Vitus would learn, but not today. "Then it is not my place to say."
That was it. That was all Vitus needed to hear to confirm that something indeed happen between his father and his heroic rescuer. But it was something that was a deep-rooted secret that even his father outwardly despised. Thinking of his father, Vitus discreetly felt the swollen bump on his face, remembering the anger of his father the moment he had smacked him. That sole anger sent a spine-shattering chill that enveloped Vitus. Things would be different in the campaign from now on.
Day 17 of the Campaign
It was sundown in the legion camp and Lucius Julius was in his tent enjoying the relative silence of his absent ancillaries from the tent. He was sitting on his bed, occasionally thinking about talking to his son, (who did his best to avoid an entire conversation with his father during the day march), but quickly shooed away such notions in favor of contemplating what to say to the Gallic chieftain that had ordered an ambush against his men a few days ago. What should be done? Should he demand that the chieftain forfeit all goods to the legion and quickly move on or should he use the village as a logistical point and have baggage trains delivered to his legion when they are on the march? Praetor Marcus most likely did this; it would be folly to completely take all their food instead of having them continually harvest food for the Twenty-Eighth. But why should he do this? Why should even keep the promise that he made in haste to his son about not harming the Gauls? Why was he even considering this?
"General? Are you present?" a voice growled throughout the massive tent. Judging by the growl, it was the mercenary captain of the barbarian cavalry, Totates. He remembered that he sent Totates and his men as "diplomats" to persuade the chieftain to talk with him.
"I am here, Totates. Give report," Lucius said, moving off his bed and directing Totates to the table with a large map of the area.
"Very well, General. The chieftain has agreed to terms of talk; but only at a neutral location. His scouts alerted him of the legion's approach. Since the legion is about 2 miles away from their village, the chieftain gave direction to meet at this summit at midday tomorrow." Totates pointed on the map. "The summit is halfway between our camp and theirs, a truly neutral spot."
"Did you reveal knowledge of his men's ambush?"
"I did not, I am not a fool," Totates boasted, taking some fruit from Lucius' table without permission, "But upon breaking words with the chieftain, I do not think that he even knows the ambush happened."
"Speak clearly, what do you mean?" Lucius asked, confusion written on his face.
Totates took a huge bite from the fruit and enjoyed the sweet taste before speaking. "His forward scouts have seen the legion approach, and he had prepared most plentiful offering of food in whence he would have given to you once you passed by their village. Upon hearing request for assembly to talk, the chieftain met the news with indifference, as if he did not know the most heinous act that he has committed."
"Must be a ploy to hide his treachery," Lucius confidently stated, "Did you gauge numbers of the Gauls within his settlement?"
Totates chuckled, "Indeed I have, my men gave number to total around 1,300. None of them were armed when we arrived, further telling me that they were not expecting a battle. Mostly women and children filled their village, the men are either boys that are still in youth or men ripe with age who possess grey hair."
"Such a small number of people…are you correct in you estimate?"
"Indeed I am, this is their last settlement, and you have practically wiped out my people!" Totates roared with laughter, Lucius just uncomfortably stared at the bellowing mercenary. How could he possibly find amusement in his people's situation? The damn mercenary! Lucius hated the idea of mercenaries, the thought of selling yourself to do whatever is asked of you, even if it was against your own people; was absolutely nauseating to think about. Although he despised everything that mercenaries stood for, he could not deny their usefulness. There were many times during a campaign that mercenaries have given him enough numbers to fight off his enemies and proved such useful "fodder" for the his proud Roman legionaries. Not to mention he could use his mercenaries for more "shadowy means", than he could do with professional Roman soldiers. Men like Totates were ravenous, traitorous curs to their race, yet they were absolutely instrumental in war.
"Do you recall how many children the chieftain has sired?" the Roman general inquired.
"Eight children have sprouted from his cock," Totates explained with food in his mouth, "Five sons and three daughters. His eldest son is a gifted warrior who is in his 22nd year, his youngest son is just a boy at the age of nine. Forgive me for saying this, but General, why are you interested in his family?"
"Just a notion of curiosity that has now been sated."
"General, if it pleases you, I would desire to be by your side when you speak to the chieftain."
"No, that will not be need," Lucius said as he poured himself a cup of wine.
"But then, who shall accompany you?"
"My bodyguards of course, Antonius, and the Mighty Three of the First Cohort because they are my finest soldiers," Lucius said after downing his cup of wine. "For you Totates, I have a special assignment for…someone of your talent."
Day 18 of Campaign
The whinnying and snorts of horses awoke Vitus from his deep slumber. He sat up in his bed and could see bright yellow sunbeams shine through his tent, too bright for it to be morning. Have I overslept?
Vitus quickly got dressed in his armor and ran out his tent worried that the legion was moving out without him; only to be graced by the sight of his father and some of his men, prepping their horses for travel.
"Father, why has the morning horn not been called? I nearly slept in!" the excited young Roman asked.
"Because I have ordered it, the legion will remain here in camp for the entire day; while I speak with their chieftain, we are leaving one hour early to prepare. I want you to go throughout camp and gauge the spirit of the men, and make sure the camp's perimeter is secure."
"So father, may I ride by your side into the village?" He asked with glowing eyes of hope.
"No, you will remain in camp," Lucius decreed.
"What? Why?"
"Because I have commanded it," Lucius said, exercising his parental authority over Vitus.
"As you command…what will you ask of the chieftain?" Vitus asked with concerned eyes.
Lucius sighed and faced his son with an annoyed expression on his face. "We have already spoken on the matter. I only seek to know of where their allegiance belongs to. Now divert your wandering mind from such thoughts. Now go through the camp and gauge the men," he lowly hissed.
Vitus took ten steps away from his father and gauged the camp; only to come to a surprising discovery that half of the men in the entire legion was gone. Vitus could see the whole area of tents where the 1st, 3rd, 4th, and 5th Cohorts initially were, had vanished completely from the camp. Vitus knew his father was up to something.
"You want me to gauge the men?" Vitus stormed back clearly irritated, "Half of the men of the Twenty-Eighth are gone like the shadows of the night! Where have they gone, father?"
Lucius stopped the preparation of his horse and walked up to his son with fire in his eyes. "Do not raise your voice at me!" Lucius bellowed, loud enough to shake Vitus to his core yet soft enough where it wouldn't make a scene. "I will not have my own son question me in such a manner!"
Whatever irritation and annoyance that was in Vitus' soul dwindled down to nothingness when his father yelled at him. His hands instinctively went up to his face, preparing to brace a smack from his father that was sure to come whenever any Roman son backtalks to his father. Seeing Vitus' hands up to guard himself, Lucius instantly remembered two days ago when he struck his son. Was this a reflex of two days ago? Was he still afraid of his father? This needed to end, how would it look if the son had to raise his arms in defense wherever his father walked by him?
"Vitus…lower your hands. If you must know, I have sent some of the cohorts out to patrol the perimeter to ensure that the camp is safe from attack and that I would not be caught in an ambush."
"You sent out four entire cohorts to patrol this small area?" Vitus skeptically asked as he lowered his hands.
"It is to ensure that we will not be caught unaware again. How can you not see this?"
"I only see you going back on your word that you gave me that you would not destroy the Gauls!"
"I am a man of my word! Do not question that! Here I thought that you were ready for a campaign, but I am beginning to think that I misjudged you myself, Commander," Lucius viciously sneered.
Commander? Misjudged? Such words ravaged his thoughts and tore through Vitus' young heart. His father now holds clear contempt for him? But why? Is it so wrong to not want others to suffer? Especially your enemies who are no longer a threat? An enemy can be more useful if they are allies, why could his father not see that? Why can he not strive for peace with this Gallic settlement and then focus on the Germans and Britons? But it did not matter; his father could not see anything beyond his own blind hatred of barbarians.
Vitus straightened his back and sucked his teeth, trying his best not to instinctively spew his venom-filled thoughts out to his father. He met his father's cold, focused eyes and half-heartedly saluted in a monotone voice, "Apologies for the disappointment, General. I will evaluate the soldiers." Vitus turned and left his father, refusing to speak another word to him.
"Um…General, the horses are set and we are ready to depart," Antonius said to Lucius, feeling a little bit awkward overhearing the father and son fight. Lucius didn't bother turning around to speak to his Tribune.
"What have I done wrong, Antonius?" Lucius asked, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"General?"
"I know you heard what Vitus has said," Lucius sighed, "I tried my best with my sons and they both have disappointed me. I gave everything to my first son, Proculus, and he has become spoiled. I gave more education to my second son, Vitus, and he has become weak," he said, his voice sounded that it was breaking apart.
"What you say about Proculus is true, but Vitus is different; he is intelligent, knowledgeable in the arts of combat and war—"
"Yet he does not hold the stomach to do what is necessary and holds no hatred for Rome's oldest enemies!" Lucius countered, feeling certain that he has failed as a father.
"Speaking of such subject; we must reach the summit before the Gauls. We must prepare," Antonius advised.
Lucius nodded to his loyal Tribune and decided that this talk with his son would be better suited for another day. But for today, his mind must be set to the task with the chieftain of the Gauls. Lucius got on top of his mount and observed his men taking position on their horses. Antonius was by his side as well as Lucius' 15 bodyguards. Aelianus, Metellus, and Arminius quickly grabbed their mounts and rode besides Antonius. With everyone ready, Lucius shouted to his men and galloped through the forest to parley with the Gauls.
Not every family is perfect, not even back in ancient times. How many of us can remember our first real fight that we had with our parents?
Thank you for reading and thank you for your continued support! It is keeping me committed to this story of mine!
-Kanuro5