Monthly Archives: June 2010

by admin

Chapter 3

When I arrived on the training grounds Metellus had the men lined up.  I recognized most of them on sight.  Good soldiers were known by everyone.  They were known either by their own boasts or through their commander’s boasts about them.  Most of what a man was in the legion was based on his exploits.  The rest was based on how well he told the story of his exploits.

Three of the men were decurions.  I couldn’t imagine what they thought about being selected for a special unit led by someone they knew as a duplicarius.  Our unit was arguably the best in the ala and I had easily five or ten years experience over any of these men, but I worried how they would take orders from someone who this morning was their inferior.  I went down the line with Metellus and tried to act like I knew what I was doing.

The first four were Syrian archers, Adar, Narses, Habib, and Khalil. They were the most agile and accurate horse archers in the ala.  Adar and Narses were brothers, and I had patrolled with them many times.  Adar smiled and nodded when I walked by.  His always dour brother remained expressionless.  The next five were native Brits: Plinius, Lucanus, Surus, Cimber, and Gratian.  They were ruddy men with light hair and long faces, all of them good, loyal soldiers. The next was Kleitos who I had only met once.  Metellus told me he was a Greek from Anatolia who knew a handful of languages including Hebrew, Samaritan, Aramaic, and Greek.  The next three were Narsica, Varus, and Ibrahim, Samaritans who had recently come from the province of Iudaea.  Merula was next.  He was a Spaniard and the best swordsman I knew.  With a spartha in one hand and a pugio in the other, I saw him level a line of men without being touched.  Then there was Catalus.  He was an enormous Brit who chose to use a hammer-ax instead of the standard spartha.  He reminded me of the axe-wielding Celt from the day before.  Finally, there was Strabo, an excellent spearman and a Gaul like his cousin Speratus.

Kleitos and the Samaritans were the only men that I didn’t know much about.  I didn’t know why Severus and Metellus included them. Kleitos was not known for his fighting ability and the Samaritans had barely been in the province long enough to know a brigand from a sack of oats.  I didn’t see how they were going to be much help in scouring the countryside for an old man and his books.

I turned to face all of the men, “As of now we are a unit.  Your loyalty as always lies with Rome but from now on you serve this unit.  You are not sixteen individuals but a single cohesive weapon.  Merula, you will act as my duplicarius, Plinius, my sesquiplicarius, and Adar you will be the signifier.  All of you need to start assembling your gear and moving it to the fifth barracks.  We will train as a unit tomorrow morning and set out at noon. Are there any questions?”

Catalus spoke up, “Sir, can you tell us where we are going?”

“Later this evening after you’ve moved into the barracks, I will go over everything you need to know for tomorrow.”  This gave me time to find out where we were going. “Now get moving, I want everyone in the new barracks by dusk.”

The men dispersed and I walked back to Metellus, “Well?” I asked.

“You did fine.  They’re good men.  I don’t think they will give you a problem but tell me, why did you pick Merula to be duplicarius?”

“He is the most independent, and I’m hoping by giving him some responsibility he will be less likely to act on his own,” I said.

“So maybe you have learned something after all these years,” he said slapping me on the back. “Now get me a list of the equipment you need plus a list of slaves and stable hands.  No more than two each.  The governor wants to keep the unit as small as possible.”

I told Metellus I’d get him the lists, but I needed to gather some information first.  I headed to the stockade where the three Brigante prisoners were being kept.

__________________________________________

Speratus arrived before me and was already interrogating the prisoners.  I found the heap of a man in the first cell.  His hands were tied behind his back and streaks of blood ran down his face and onto his now crimson tunic.  Speratus was with the next prisoner.

“Where were you planning to meet them?” Speratus said.

All I heard was a heavy cough.

“Where!” Speratus demanded.

“Up your mother’s ass,” was the response.

I looked in the room in time to see Speratus kneeing the man in the lower back.  The prisoner was kneeling in the center of the room, his arms tied out to either side of the cell.  He winced from the blow but said nothing. He just snorted the blood in his nose into his throat and spit it on the floor.

Speratus walked around the man toward me, “I left the kid for you.  I doubt he will tell me anything.”

I nodded and went to the next cell.  The boy was crouched at the back of the cell, his back against the wall, elbows on his knees, and hands over his ears.  He glared at me like a belligerent ox.

“Do you understand Latin?” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Get up, let’s go,” I said opening the door to the cell.

He looked up apprehensively and slowly got up.  His hands and feet were shackled.  He took small steps toward the door.  I motioned another guard to follow us, and we walked out of the stockade to the training stables.

We sat down on a bench outside the corral where a young filly was being trained.  I let the boy watch for awhile.

In Celtic I said, “What was your father’s name?”

Looking straight ahead he said, “Dunham.”

“You can believe it or not but I do feel badly about your father. Nevertheless your people are playing a dangerous game challenging Rome.”

“You are the trespassers. For four generations we have fought Rome.  It is time for you to go home,” he said like he was reading a list.  There was no conviction in his voice.

“This place has become my home.  I’ve lived here for twenty-nine years.  All the soldiers you see are not responsible for this conflict any more than your parents or even their parents,” I continued in my broken Celtic.

He said nothing.

“Do you have a mother or siblings?”

“No. My mother died when I was born.” he said.

“Do you know what is going to happen to you now?” I said in Latin.

“I don’t care,” he said back to me in Celtic. It was the stubborn response of youth.

“If you don’t cause much trouble you will become a slave, probably in Gaul or another part of the empire.  If you are obedient you may even have an opportunity to join the legion and have a chance at citizenship.”

“Why would I want to become a Roman citizen?” he continued in Latin.

“It is your only chance at freedom.  Rome has been around for more generations than you or I can imagine and we are not going away.  You can remain a slave and never come back to your homeland or you can help us and have a chance to make your own choices.”

He sat motionless staring at the horses.

I continued, “Do you remember the old man who your father got the amulet from?”

For the first time, he looked at me.  I assumed he finally understood where I was going.

“What of him?”

“Do you know where he is?  Is he still alive?”

“Why would I tell you?  So, you can kill more of my people?”

“I’m only interested in the old man.”

“The old man is crazy,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It was his idea that we kidnap him.  I think he figured we were going to kill him, and he did it to save his skin.” he said.

“Why haven’t your people asked for a ransom yet?”

“They think the old man is valuable for what he knows.  Plus, he tells a good story.”

“If you tell me where he is at I can make sure you do not spend the rest of your life in the mines or cleaning latrines,” I said.

“Why should I believe you and betray my own people? Do you really think that I’m that stupid?”

I stood up and faced the boy, “Do you remember the man who killed your father?”

He looked up at me with menace in his eyes.

“His unit and mine have been tasked with finding the old man.  One of us will find him.  Would you rather he does it?  Do you think he will take any mercy on your people?  Do you think he’ll offer to look out for you?  You can take me at my word or not.  It is your choice.”

“Some fucking choice,” he said.

There was innocence in his rage, but I needed to make clear the consequences of not helping me.

“Alright then, back to the stockade.  I was hoping we could help each other out.”  I grabbed him under the arm to lift him up.

He resisted, “Wait, what happens to me now?”

“It is not my concern,” I said.

“Wait, can I watch the horses some more?”

“What for?”

“I have no idea where they are now but I know where we were going to meet,” he said.

I let him go.

“In two days we will gather for the summer solstice.  The old man was actually looking forward to it,” he said.

“Where is the meeting place?”

“I don’t know exactly.  I’ve never been to that grove.”

“You know roughly where it is at?”

“All I know is that it is somewhere between the two forts north of here.”

I’d scouted the area many times.  It would be easy to find out if the boy was telling the truth.  I asked him about the strength of the group and how they guarded Elijah, but he was vague or said he didn’t know.  I let him watch the horses until dinner then I took him back to his cell.  Speratus was still there talking to the guards.

“What did you find out?” I said walking up to him.

His knuckles were red and the edge of his hairline was matted with sweat.  “It sounds like they are taking the old man to the coast to sail farther west.  What did the kid tell you?”

“He said they would be meeting for the solstice up between Blatobulgium and Castra Exploratorum.”

“I don’t think they would stay around the forts, especially if they plan to ransom the old Jew,” Speratus said.

“That may be but I doubt they know we are on to them yet.”

“Don’t be naive Coran, there are spies everywhere.  I bet that they’ve already fled, probably slit the old man’s throat and left him for dead someplace.”

After seventeen years, Speratus’s pessimism and paranoia almost amused me.

“Very well then, you check the coast and I’ll go north,” I said.

Always with the last word, Speratus added, “Just what I was thinking.”

by admin

Chapter 2, Second Half

Speratus was easy on the men during morning drills. I was thankful. My head was still heavy from the wine. I barely paid attention as the men rode by slashing at straw dummies and firing arrows at targets from horseback. After the men finished, I put Saad through the muddy course. He moved flawlessly. By the third round, I was getting used to the horse’s height and long stride. Tempest rolled across the ground like a boulder. Saad was more like a stone skipping across the water. Coming around for a final pass, I saw one of Metellus’s assistants ride up to Speratus.

When I joined him, he said, “We’re wanted at the principia immediately.”

“What for?” I asked.

“Metellus didn’t say. The assistant simply said to head straight there.”

We headed for the center of the fort without talking until we got to the gate of the principia, “Have you talked to anybody about yesterday’s mission?” he said.

“No, why, do you think this has something to do with that?”

“No. I don’t know.”

We handed our horses over to the servants and spotted Metellus waiting for us under the eaves surrounding the outer courtyard. He was wearing his parade breastplate and a clean red cloak. His hair and even his gray beard were dutifully combed. I suddenly felt unkempt with my mud splattered boots and sweaty armor.

“How were morning drills?” Metellus asked.

“Good, sir,” Speratus said.

“Good,” Metellus answered. He seemed preoccupied with other thoughts.

“Sir, may I ask what this is about?” Speratus said.

“It is not me that wants to see you. It is Governor Severus.”

“The governor. Do you know for what?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. They’ll get us when they were ready.”

A guard in full armor opened a nearby door and summoned us into the central corridor of the building. We followed him up a flight of stairs and waited in the hallway as he knocked on a door guarded by two more armed soldiers. An older, balding man in a gray tunic answered the door and motioned for us to come in. Inside two men stood at a table looking at a map. One was in scale armor of an eastern design and had a thin wispy beard and long dark hair pulled back and tied behind his head. The other man who I assumed to be the governor wore a heavy white tunic covered by a deep crimson toga. He was tall with short-cropped, gray hair and deep set eyes. The assistant led us to three chairs in front of the table. The governor said something in a foreign tongue to the exotic looking man who nodded and stepped back into the corner.

The assistant cleared his throat and said, “Governor, I present to you Praefectus Equitum Metellus, Decurion Aulus Cassius Speratus, and his Duplicarius Marcus Fidelis Coranus. Legionnaires, Governor Severus.”

“Please have a seat.” Severus said motioning toward the chairs. He remained standing. “Metellus tells me you had some success yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” Speratus said.

The morning sun beamed through the window behind Severus and I squinted to see his face. Outside I heard the men finishing their morning drills and heading to the bathhouse. I wished I was out there still taking Saad through maneuvers.

Severus continued, “Metellus says that your unit is the most capable within the ala. He says you have some of the best horsemen and fighters.”

Speratus sat up straight in his seat, “Yes, sir. We do what we are trained to do.”

“Your father, he was in the legion?” Severus asked.

“Yes, sir. The Twentieth, Valeria Vitirx. He fought under Agricola at Mons Grapius.”

“Where are you from originally? You look to be from Gallic blood.”

“My family is from Aquitania. My father joined the legion under Emperor Titus.”

Severus moved to his right and blocked the sunlight from the window. “And what of you Coranus?”

All I could see were spots as my eyes adjusted. “Yes, sir . . . uh . . . my father’s father joined the legion in Macedonia and my father and I followed in his footsteps. My father was transferred to the Twentieth from the Fourth, Flavia Felix. I was originally in the Twentieth’s cavalry until Metellus recruited me into the ala.”

“Macedonia is a beautiful area. Did your father retire there?”

“No, only in death. He was killed during a Caledonian uprising twenty years ago. Along with my mother, I took his ashes back to our family’s land in Macedonia.”

“What rank did your father reach?” Severus asked.

“Optio, second in command of the third century in the second cohort.” I said.

“Metellus tells me that he has all but offered you command of your own unit but you’ve declined. Why?”

The bluntness of the question surprised me. I tried not to move but I shifted in my seat, “I serve Rome, not my ambition. I feel that my skills are best being used where I’m at.”

“What do you think Speratus?” Severus said.

Speratus straightened up again, “Coran is crucial to my unit’s success. He has always served Rome faithfully.”

“I wasn’t asking if he’s faithful. I want to know if you think he could handle his own command.”

I stiffened in my chair. My neck, which I pulled the day before, began to tighten.

“Yes, sir. He would make a fine decurion,” Speratus said.

“Good. Metellus assured me of such.” He pushed the maps on the table to the side to reveal the blood-stained amulet I had brought back the day before. “Do you recognize this?”

Speratus hesitated, but both of us said, “Yes, sir.”

“Where did you get it?” Severus said holding it by its leather strap.

Speratus said nothing as he balled up his hands. Uncomfortable with the silence, I responded, “It came off one of the brigands we fought yesterday.”

“Is he still alive?”

Speratus still said nothing.

“No, he was killed in the skirmish,” I said.

Severus put the amulet down on the table so we could see it.

“The brigand took the amulet from my scribe who was kidnapped ten days ago while traveling to Blatobulgium. This man, Elijah, is very important to me. The information he has collected over the years is critical to Rome’s success not only here in Britannia but also elsewhere. I need you to find him, and just as importantly, I need you to bring back his writings because despite his value, if he hasn’t survived, his writings are just as valuable, if not more so.”

Severus turned to the man in the gray tunic and put out his hand. The assistant produced a scroll and handed it to the Governor. “I need him found quickly and I only want the very best for the task. Speratus select sixteen of your best men to serve as your unit.” He held out the scroll to me. “And Coranus, I hereby promote you to decurion and am assigning you the sixteen men on this scroll. They were handpicked by Metellus from the ala. All other resources the ala can provide are at your disposal. Do you have any questions?”

I opened the scroll to read the names. The pain in my neck was shooting down my back. I was looking at the scroll but nothing was registering. I kept hoping that Speratus would ask a question to give me time to comprehend what had just happened.

Speratus finally spoke, “Do you have a description of Elijah and where he was kidnapped?”

Severus looked to his assistant, “Tiberius here can fill you in on all the details.” I could then feel his gaze fall on me. “Do you have any problems with your orders Coranus?”

“No, sir.” I should have said more, thanked him for the promotion, pledged my loyalty to the Emperor, something, but I was at a loss for words.

“Good. If you are successful I have a much bigger task for both of you. And don’t worry you will be compensated for taking on these extra duties.” He picked up the amulet and tossed it at me. Luckily I grabbed it before it hit me in the face. “Take that with you and bring back the first old Jewish man you can find that can read it,” he said with just the hint of a smile. It was the only emotion he showed the whole meeting.

We were dismissed and Tiberius gave us each a scroll describing Elijah and the circumstances surrounding his kidnapping. Metellus informed me that my new unit would be ready to go after noon on the training grounds. As we went to our horses, Speratus congratulated me on the promotion and warned me of all the new problems I was going to have. We also arranged to meet at the end of the day to interrogate our three prisoners.

by admin

Chapter 2, First Half

The sun had set by the time we started back to the fort. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. We had killed seven brigands, taken three captive, and lost one of our own, Marius. Despite the victory, Marius’s death bothered me. I was thirty-five with seventeen years in the cavalry and I still wasn’t comfortable with the capriciousness of death. My belief in the gods and the afterlife weren’t strong enough. What made that arrow take his life and miss the rest of us? At what moment did Marius realize he had breathed his last breath? I looked at the boy, arms bound behind his back, sitting in the back of the cart. His entire life changed in an instance as he watched his father die. I shuddered thinking about my own sons having to deal with that image. I even felt pity for the crazy man with the axe. One moment he was probably the best fighter of his tribe, maybe even a devout father, but the next he was nothing more than a pile of carrion food. It all seemed so senseless.

I was relieved to see the firelight from the milecastles along the wall. Hadrian’s great wall looked more impressive at night when you couldn’t tell its true size and your mind made it bigger than it was. It looked ominous on the horizon with the torchlight reflecting off the smoke and mist rising from the cooking fires and the heat of the buildings. I imagined the wall was protecting the rest of the world from hell itself. The noise from inside the fort sounded like demons were preparing to flow from the gates, but the huge wooden gates opened to reveal a handful of soldiers and a group of modest buildings. The horses were handed over to slaves, captives were put under guard, and I headed to the barracks. I was tired and sore, not the least of which from Marius’s horse, or more likely from my saddle which didn’t quite fit the horse’s contours. His horse and Tempest couldn’t have been more different. Tempest was a stout snow white pony where Marius’s horse was a tall and sleek, ebony Arabian. Like Marius he was originally from Syria and was brought in to appease the Syrian horse archers that made up a number of the cavalry. He was too tall for my taste and made me feel uneasy in the saddle. But he did have a smooth gait and took commands well.

The stables and barracks were attached with each soldier’s horses next to his quarters. I took my armor off and washed up in a basin as my servant, Philo, fetched water and hay for the horses. Each soldier was entitled to three horses. I never kept more than two. Before today it was Tempest and her older brother Hector, who I had retired from service. Speratus didn’t like me keeping the old horse around, but I didn’t have the heart to send him to the dogs. He’d served faithfully just like his mother and sister. The other men derided me for my loyalty to the animals but if years in the cavalry taught me anything it was that these animals could be trusted more than the men. Especially the men Speratus recruited. He valued aggressiveness over intelligence and boldness over loyalty. It made us effective but our effectiveness often compromised our safety. Marius learned that lesson.

I cleaned my armor and went to the adjoining stables to check Philo and my new horse. Philo told me that Marius had named the horse Saad and that it meant something like gift in Marius’s native tongue. I grabbed a brush from the shelf and ran it down his back. Saad’s hair was smooth, his winter coat shed months ago. Tempest was a ruddier breed, her white coat coarse and matted most of the year. She wasn’t the first horse that I’d lost, but she was the one my boy’s had grown up with. Both my sons had learned how to ride with her and would take the news hard. Saad calmly ate his hay, content in his new quarters. I put the brush away and headed back to my room as Philo finished cleaning the stall. The room consisted of two beds, a couple of wooden trunks, and a small desk and chair. I shared the room with the third in command, the sesquiplicarius. His name was Tonius, and for the most part, he was a good soldier. He had stayed at the fort, but he helped to process the prisoners and inventory the stolen goods when we returned. Just as I sat down at the table to rest, he entered the room holding a small role of parchment.

“Here is the prisoner list, sir,” he said.

“Were they cooperative?” I said.

“They all gave us a name and age. I don’t know if they are telling the truth but the ages fit. They all seem to understand basic Latin and appear to be in good health.” He sat the parchment on the desk and then went to his bed.

I scanned the list looking for the boy’s name. The youngest one on the list was fifteen, and his name was listed as Brenden. My son’s face flashed in my mind. He wanted to be a soldier. It was the only example I’d ever given him. I don’t know why I expected anything else? How could this Brenden have turned out any different? I shook off my thoughts and gathered the prisoner list along with the amulet from the boy’s father and headed to Speratus’s quarters. I tapped on the door and went in. His room was twice the size of the others and had its own latrine and glass windows. It smelled of incense and fresh wine not the horseshit that lingered in the rest of the barracks. At the far end of the room, Speratus sat at an oak table covered in red cloth. Five candles of different heights sat at the front corners of the desk and lit up the room. He was busy rolling out a scroll, as I put the list and items on the table. I slumped down in a chair across from him. Our ranks meant little when it was just the two of us. I had known Speratus for as long as I could remember. It was hard to maintain any formality with someone who knew you as a child, who knew your fears, your failures, and your aspirations.

I waited for him to finish reading the report. The candlelight brought out the thin wrinkles coming from the corner of his eyes. We were getting old. The long days of riding and training were wearing on us. I shifted in the chair conscious of every ache and bruise. Speratus’s wavy blond hair was thinning and my dark hair was quickly turning gray. We were a long way from playing swords in the mud behind the stables. Finally, he looked up from the scroll.

“What do you make of this?” he said, handing the scroll over to me.

I read it over. The provincial governor, Julius Severus, was coming to the fort, and there would be a festival in his honor tomorrow.

“I hate these things. All that fuss just to stroke the man’s ego.” I said.

“Well, you’d better get used to them, especially if you ever plan to make it anywhere in the legion.”

“Who says I want to make it anywhere. What if I’m happy where I’m at? You go and kiss their rings and sing their praises. I’ll stay and clean out the stalls.”

“You’re a stubborn ass. You’d better not let any of the men hear you talk like that.”

I leaned forward and picked up the amulet off the desk. Blood in the grooves of the engraved letters highlighted them against the gold. I rubbed my thumb across the metal.

“You know I will go regardless. I’m just tired right now. I’ll feel better tomorrow,” I said.

“You’d better. I don’t want you talking like this in front of Metellus and the others. They’ll think I’ve lost control of my duplicarius.”

“You lost me years ago.” I threw the amulet back on the desk. “Trade this in with the other trinkets for some new equipment.”

I got up to leave.

He stood up with me, “Are you alright Coran? You seem more distant than usual.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Is it about that Celt’s father?” He looked down at the amulet on the table.

“No, just tired,” I said.

But it did have something to do with that. In spite of all our years together, Speratus and I had different views of the world. The only thing was he knew what he believed, and I was only finding out what truly mattered to me.

I said goodnight and went back to my quarters. I changed into a clean tunic and sat down on the edge of the bed. I pulled a small bottle from under the bed and pulled the cork. I took a long drink. It was good wine, not the watered down swill the legion provided for rations. It was from Pompeii and I spent over two denarii a bottle on it in Londinium. The wine eased my nerves and made some of my aches go away. It also helped me go to sleep. It was on nights like these that I found it hardest to fall asleep. I rehashed every move I made against the brigands. I tried to focus on the things I did right but I always came back to my mistakes, how I let my guard down or got lucky. One day I might not be so lucky. One day the sword might be going into my chest. What would I be thinking in that moment? Would I be angry? Would I find peace? Or would I just piss myself?

The bottle was empty. I sat up and the room rocked from side to side. I checked for another bottle but there was nothing there. I lay back down and closed my eyes. The room was still spinning inside my head. Sleep finally came, but it wasn’t restful. It was always the same dream. It no longer frightened me like it did when I was a child, but I could do nothing but watch it unfold. The fire and the shadows, the screams and clanging of swords filled my head. I was too young to remember the details and it took me years to realize that what I was seeing wasn’t some nightmarish fantasy but fragments of my own memory mixed with the vivid descriptions of others. I was five years old and most of the garrison was fighting Picts up north leaving only a few dozen soldiers to guard the fort. My mother and I, like my own wife and children, were forced to live in the settlement outside the fort. The small settlement supported the fort and was made up of craftsmen, traders, farmers, and the unofficial, unrecognized families of the soldiers.

A group of Scots took the opportunity to attack the settlement at night knowing that most of the legion was away. They burned homes, murdered women and children, stole the livestock and emptied the granaries. My mother and I along with a few other families made it to the safety of the fort, but I saw many more that did not. The soldiers were ordered to stay inside the fort or risk giving it up. They had to watch as their friends and families were smoked out of their homes and run down like animals in the streets. Before we made it to the fort, I saw my mother’s sister, carrying my four year old cousin Ayla, hit from behind by a spear, killing her instantly. Ayla clung to her mother as the spearman brought his sword over her head. I woke up as the sword came down.

My blanket was on the floor, and I was cold. Pulling it over me, I was still shivering. Morning was hours away, and I couldn’t get the look on Ayla’s face out of my head. She didn’t understand what was going on. At that age I didn’t understand. What did we do to them to deserve that? What did little Ayla do to deserve that? I didn’t understand and no amount of my mother’s consoling could wipe that image from my mind. As I grew older there was little question that I was going to be a soldier and put an end to the barbarism. But as time passed I saw or heard the same story played out again and again and it wasn’t always the enemy who was barbaric.

My thoughts spiraled downward. Life was an endless millstone grinding men, women, and children into dust, into the soil. That is where we are all going to end up some day, so why fight it? What did it matter that some of us go earlier than others? What’s the point? What is the fucking point? I could feel my heart begin to race, the darkness of the room crushing in on me. I hated this time of night. I wanted to see the sun to be sure I’d see another day. My chest was heavy, my breathing unsteady. The more I tried to relax and clear the desperate thoughts the more anxious I became. Ayla’s innocent eyes flashed in my head, then the man with the axe, then the boy, the helplessness in their eyes. I tried to think about other things. I thought about playing with my boys, Macer and Justin. I thought about my wife, Aria. I tried to focus on her long black hair, her blue eyes, her smooth skin, the curve of her hips. My heart began to slow, and I felt like I could breath. I looked up at the timbers in the ceiling and thought of the bright summer days I spent hewing logs for the fort. Peeling off long curly tendrils of beech and alder, I formed the green wood into sturdy beams. I could smell the wood chips and feel the warm sun on my back. My body finally relaxed and I pictured cutting a mortise. I chiseled away at the soft wood. Before I finished the cut, I was asleep again.