Iudaea Novel

Chapter 1 (cont.)

I told him to get up, using my sword to show him what I meant in case he didn’t speak Latin.  I prodded him back to where Tempest was laying on a blanket of blood-soaked leaves.  The fighting was over, and I only saw our men cleaning their swords.  Speratus walked out from around the brambles and over to the dead man.

He kicked the behemoth in the side, “Impressive work.  Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.  He was all bluster and no finesse.” I knelt down next to Tempest.  Her breathing was labored and choked with blood.

Speratus continued, “The bastards killed Marius, an arrow clean through the neck.  And Sarkis got his leg pinned to his horse, shredded it up when he fell off, but he’ll live as long as he doesn’t bleed out.  Lucius will take over as signifier for now.”

He kept talking, but my attention was on Tempest.  She had saved me more times than I could remember.  She followed my every lead regardless of her own safety, and I led her right into that brigand’s axe.  The wound was deep, and she wasn’t going to last much longer.  I didn’t want to see her suffer, so I took my sword and placed the tip behind her left front leg.  I drove it into her heart as quickly as I could.  She shuddered and I felt the muscles in her neck go limp.

Speratus had stopped talking and was watching me, “Take Marius’s horse, he doesn’t need it anymore.”

I nodded.  I pulled some rope from my saddle and went to the boy.  He offered no resistance as I bound his hands, but he kept looking over at the other archer, who was starting to moan and roll his head.    Speratus walked over, pulling a knife from his belt.  The boy’s eyes grew wide, and I turned just as Speratus pulled the man’s head back and slit his throat like a freshly pinned deer.  The boy lurched forward and screamed the Celtic word for father.  I recognized it because it was what my sons called me.  They’d learned it from their mother, who was born into a local Celtic tribe called the Brigante.  I held the boy back.  I knew Speratus would not hesitate to do the same to him if provoked.  The boy dropped to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes.

I turned to Speratus, “What did you do!”

He casually cleaned the blade of his knife, “What? He tried to kill you. Given the chance, he’d just as soon slit your throat or mine.  Besides, we don’t need a wounded Celt taking time away from our injured men.”

“He was no threat to anyone.  I thought we were supposed to civilize these people not murder them.”

“Always the idealist. Why didn’t you try to civilize him?” Speratus pointed the knife at the man I killed. “These people don’t want what we have.  They’re perfectly happy skimming off the edges and taking what doesn’t belong to them.” Looking down at the archer and then at the boy he continued, “An example has to be set so they know that we aren’t going to let them get away with it.  Either they accept the rules, or they die resisting.”

“Nice speech.  You do realize that was his father?” I said.

Speratus clenched his jaw, “Have you forgotten who is in charge here?  My actions are not yours to question.”

When he asserted his rank, I knew I’d pushed him far enough, and to some extent he was right.  These men weren’t going to change their ways regardless if we tried to convince them with swords or rhetoric.  They no more wanted the life of a Roman then I wanted the life of a Celt.

Speratus walked away.  I went over to the man with the axe and picked up the knife he had intended for my back.  As a Roman soldier and especially as the duplicarius, I was entitled to whatever loot I found on the battlefield.  This benefit alone drove many of the soldiers.  If they made it to retirement, they would get their citizenship, if they didn’t have it already, along with a nice piece of land and be able to live comfortably on all their spoils.

Most of the items I kept I passed along as gifts or offerings.  I didn’t need a dead man’s belongings haunting me.  If it was an admirable opponent I might keep some small trinket as a tribute, but most I gave to the legion to support the unit or left in shrines for Mirthras and Silvanus.

Passing back by the boy’s father, a glint of metal caught my eye.  The boy was still on his knees, staring blankly at the ground.  I rolled the man over and found an ornate sword and scabbard attached to his belt.  I cut the belt and pulled the sword free.  The handle was made of bronze with two fanciful heads at its base that curved back toward the center.  The scabbard was even more impressive with two elaborately carved eagles twisted in an aerial battle.  The sword was old but in good shape.  Also around the man’s neck was an amulet.  Wiping away the blood, I could see it was made of gold and engraved with strange marks.  They didn’t appear to be Celtic runes, but it was made of gold and I could get a decent exchange for it.

I walked back over to the boy and pulled him to his feet.

“Someday boy, if the gods see fit, you’ll be able to earn this sword back.”  I cut away his bonds. “For now though, you at least deserve the right to bury your father,” I said.