Anthony Riches - Wounds of Honour

‘And now, Centurion, you can get that lamp fuel down your neck and fetch the senior centurions to come and see me. The sooner that lot out there know they’ve got a day of rest tomorrow the happier we’ll all be.’ The depleted legion turned south the day after next as promised and, with thoughts of home in their hearts, made the journey back to the Wall in four days. At Noisy Valley, where buildings were being thrown up to replace those burned out to deny the warband their supplies, the other legions had set about building a temporary camp to house them until they could march south to their fortresses at the campaign’s end. Equitius went looking for the 20th’s legate to make his report, taking Marcus and a tent party of his men as close escort. They found the Northern Command’s new general in his freshly erected wooden principia, a clutch of legion tribunes and senior centurions gathered around him as they planned the campaign’s next moves. Dismissing his escort for the time being, Equitius approached Legatus Macrinus and made his salute before joining the group.

Marcus took his men outside to wait for the legatus, sitting them down in the early afternoon’s warmth with a quiet order to Dubnus to keep them busy polishing their helmets, and to call him when Equitius had completed his duties inside, then headed for the infirmary. The legionaries guarding the hospital confirmed that there were Tungrian wounded inside. He found a couple of dozen of them, including five of his own men, sporting bandages and, in a couple of cases, fracture splints. Their delight at the visit was obvious, and they sat him down on a bed and plied him with questions on the state of the campaign.

It soon became clear that they knew more about what was going on than he did, and the consensus was that there was another advance to the north planned before the end of the summer. The Tungrians had been sent back to the Hill a few days before for a week’s leave and to do whatever recruiting was possible locally to boost their strength, but were scheduled to return to the swiftly growing legionary fortress that Noisy Valley was becoming for further duty. Yes, they were all well enough, although several of their mates had died in the difficult days of the march south from the battlefield, too badly hurt to survive for the most part, but the care in the hospital had saved several others, particularly that from one doctor, the last said with much rolling of eyes and significant nods.

Marcus, knowing exactly where the conversation was going, smiled weakly and took his leave, promising to remember them to their friends and, if time allowed, to send their mates in to see them. In truth he’d forced himself to forget her, assisted by the strains of the last month, and being reminded of her existence was like having an ice-cold dagger twisted in his soul. Turning away, he came face to face with Felicia, who had been standing watching him with his men with a small smile on her face. He froze with uncertainty, blushing uncontrollably.

‘Centurion. I trust you find your men in good condition?’

Recovering his wits, he bowed formally.

‘Yes, ma’am, I’m told that almost everyone that made it here survived. The Tungrian cohort is in your debt.’

She smiled, and Marcus’s heart leapt in his chest.

‘That’s probably no recommendation for our care. Anyone that survived that journey was probably going to live anyway…’

The more vocal of the Tungrians butted in indignantly on her behalf, one of them volunteering to remove his bandages and show Marcus the truly horrible wound the doctor had cleaned with delicate care three times a day, picking out the dead flesh so carefully that he hadn’t even felt her working, until Marcus’s irritation overcame his embarrassment, and he shooed the men back to their beds. With order restored, he turned back to Felicia with fresh confidence.

‘If their exuberance is any guide, I’d say you’ve done a fine job on them, Doctor. Perhaps we could discuss their likely further treatment somewhere a little quieter, and I’ll pass your diagnosis on to their prefect when I see him next.’

She smiled a secret smile, beckoning him down the ward and into her tiny office. In the small room, lit by the sun’s light through an open window, he noticed that her tunic was not dark blue, as he’d supposed in the less well-illuminated ward, but simple black. She followed his gaze and pursed her lips.

‘My husband was killed in that battle you fought against the barbarians.’

Marcus frowned, confused.

‘He was alive the last time I saw him.’

‘It happened later in the day, apparently, during the pursuit. His cohort cornered a barbarian band which turned and fought them to the death. He was found dead after the fight. It was a spear apparently, although the circumstances seem to have been confused…’

‘I’m sorry. I mean… I read your tablet… and he told me that…’

‘I know. I hated the man for the last year of our marriage, and his death has freed me to do whatever I want, within reason, but I still feel guilty about what happened.’

Marcus leaned back against the wall, looking closely at her face.

‘I’m… I…’

‘Yes, Centurion?’

‘I would prefer it if you would call me Marcus. And I’d like to think, given time, of course, that we might…’

‘Be together? Yes, I thought so too. I think I still do. But I do need time to let all this work itself out. Come and see me next time you’re in camp. I won’t be going anywhere in the meanwhile.’

He nodded his understanding, turning for the door.

‘Centurion… Marcus?’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Firstly you could stop calling me “ma’am” as if I were some Roman matron. You know my forename…’

He managed a smile in return.

‘Yes, Clodia Drusilla. But, if you’ll forgive me, I won’t use it until I know whether we’re to be friends or something more. Call it superstition. And secondly, ma’am?’

‘You could hold me for a moment. Remind me what male affection feels like.’

He took her in his arms, holding her slim body against his armour and stroking her hair with his right hand. After a long moment she pulled away, smiling again.

‘Next time we do that, I’ll make a point of your not being dressed in twenty pounds of chain mail. We don’t all have a compulsion for men in uniform. Now, off with you, I’ve got work to do.’

Marcus ran the gauntlet of the wounded Tungrians, all of whom had stupid smiles on their faces and some of whom went so far as to wink and nod vigorously at him, pulling his helmet on as he walked out past the guards to cover up his own stupid smile. From the knowing looks and sideways glances he got from the men waiting for him outside the principia, he guessed that the wounded had found some way of passing the news to their colleagues. Thinking what he would have to put up with from Antenoch, he shook his head, only making his men smile more widely behind their hands.

When Equitius emerged from the building half an hour later, the look on his face was neutral, neither happy nor troubled.

‘I’m in command for the rest of the summer, at least, and then we’ll see what happens. There’s still the small matter of a lost eagle to be dealt with, of course. Entire legions have been cashiered for losing their standards, broken up for reinforcements, so who knows what’ll happen when the news reaches Rome…Twentieth and Second Legions are going to camp here for three weeks, since the barbarians will be too busy getting the harvest in to worry much about fighting us for the rest of the month. I’m taking the Sixth south to Yew Grove, to collect three cohorts of reinforcements that are expected there from Gaul within the week. So, you can head west to the Hill and rejoin the cohort. Give Uncle Sextus my thanks for the loan of your men, and tell him that I’ll have a couple of centuries of replacements put to one side for him for when he brings his people back to Noisy Valley. That should get him back to full strength. There’s a troop convoy expected into Arab Town soon with initial reinforcements, real Tungrians from northern Gaul, apparently.’