The Carpathian Interlude

Immortui-5

"Pio ine to onoma sou?" Gaius had asked him his name. Whimpering, the boy had muttered "Daxos."

Gaius had been grateful for that much.

"Up, lads! First watch!" Gaius pounded the doors of those men who remained behind with his hastile. Julius had taken four contubernia, forty men, leaving Gaius to command thirty. Gaius knew Julius would already have his men mustered in the space before the gate, readying themselves to cross in groups on the barges. The bridge building had experienced delays since the legion had been called west. His men began to emerge from their quarters, lining up along the barracks' walls. Gaius walked along, inspecting belt buckles and scabbards, helms and pila in the early morning light.

"Right. Let's go! III Century to the watch!" he called down the line before leading them around the perimeter of the walls, leaving troops at regular intervals the whole way before climbing to the top of the gatehouse with Antonius to look out over the Danuvius.

The river fought the morning light with its dark depths as Gaius watched the first of the barges begin its crossing, the cloaks of the ten legionaries on board like splashes of crimson paint far below. In the distance north and northeast, the mountains raked upward to black, cloudy skies. It would take Julius and the men at least two days, maybe more, to reach the foothills.

When the final barge was ready to push off, Julius turned toward the gate house and saluted.

Gaius returned the salute, then watched as the men on the far bank raised the vexillum and began the long march. The increasing light of dawn glinted on their helms as forty beacons of light.

"Mithras go with you, brothers," Gaius said before making another round of the walls.

The remainder of the day was all routine for Gaius and the rest of the century. After the watch he led the men in drills which included testudo formations, and a mock engagement with some men of the sixth cohort. Though outnumbered, Gaius' men's discipline won out against their opponents’. However, tempers ran high and soon Gaius and the other optio were pulling men apart. The other optio had cracked his man so hard across the back with his hastile that the buckles of his lorica snapped and he was taken to the infirmary. Gaius put his man on latrine duty though it was in fact the other century's fault that the brawl had started in the first place.

It was a relief to get to the baths afterward, to ease tensions, and let worries melt away. The men of the two centuries became friends once more while Gaius, the other optio, named Valens, and the centurion, Bosco, soaked in the caldarium.

"Sorry about that scuffle today, Justus," Valens said. "Our men were sore losers, I guess. I thought it would make them feel good to beat some of old Lycus' men for a change."

Gaius laughed. "Did you now? Good thing we were under half-strength then."

"Pa!" Bosco spat. "I think we should rematch with your whole century once the rest are back. The men will try harder knowing all of you are there."

"They weren't trying?" Gaius asked, wary of making Bosco angry. The man was a brawler and things had only been stopped by Valens because Bosco had been called to the Praetorium.

"I didn't ask you, sir. What were the orders from the commander?"

"Ach! We've got to march over the Durostorum to pick up and accompany some magistrate and his family back here. Apparently they're making a tally of needs after the campaigns." Bosco stretched his arms up and back. "Just another shite escort job. Hopefully the wife will be something pretty for the men to look at. Not like Julius' plum job, eh? Search and destroys are always good for morale and better training than any drills. Lucky bastard."

Through half-closed lids, Gaius watched Bosco, wondered if he was right or simply mad, in love with blood.

"Lucky bastard…" Bosco repeated, the words splashing off the walls as he got out of the pool.

In Julius' absence, Gaius drilled the men doubly hard, so much so that they dropped at the end of each day, sore and unconscious, going to sleep like a babe to its mother. Gaius felt too that he'd never worked so hard in his life and put it down to his not wanting to disappoint Julius. The centurion was present, if not physically, then at least in his mind, barking orders in his usual, gruff manner. Gaius only found real peace when, at the end of each day, he led his men to the Mithraeum. As Sun Runner, he performed his duties to the god and to his men, and as optio, he ensured they were all ready for action. One day, after prayers, Gaius sat on a boulder outside the Mithraeum watching the westering sun blaze downward.

Mithras had not yet granted him an explanation of his bloody dream from before. Gaius wondered if Apollo would not have been a better judge as the God of Prophecy, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Mithras had always been the receiver of his prayers and offerings, the one who stood beside him in the heat of battle as he faced death. Yet thoughts of the dream harangued him, like Germanic wraiths on the march, ever present, ever mysterious, never letting one rest.

Julius and the men had been gone for over a week and still no word had arrived. Gaius wondered if the distance had been farther than expected or if Julius and his men were cornered, dug in with no way to get out.

As he sat on that boulder looking at the disappearing sun, the changing colour and light about him, he spotted Stefanos and the boy, Daxos, walking toward him. Then it hit him. Perhaps the boy will know something useful? Indeed, Gaius and the medicus had been so adamant about not disturbing Daxos with any more questions that they had failed to realize he may hold some important intelligence that could help them.

"Optio!" Stefanos waived as they approached. Daxos held his hand as they walked. Gaius noticed his eyes had stopped looking about with panic. Now they were dark and focussed, the well of tears for his family run dry. "Optio. Daxos says he wishes to speak with you."

Gaius looked back at the cave, wondered if his prayers for guidance had been answered, and motioned for both of them to sit with him on the ancient stone.

"Tell me."

Gaius noted something of the Thracian warrior had come into Daxos's demeanour; his head was higher, his little shoulders were back and his eyes looked directly from one man to the other. He wondered if Daxos had been thinking of the father he would never again see or hear praise from, if the boy had now decided he was the head of his clan now, as the sole survivor. Daxos sat on the flat rock, the setting sun orange on his face.

"Immortui…" he began, trying the Latin word he had heard used.

"Athanatoi?" Stefanos echoed in Greek.

"Yes. They are."

"So, it’s true?" Gaius asked, leaning forward. Daxos nodded, plucked up his courage.

"Yes. True. They…they kill my oikogenia…my family."

"Tell me what happened, Daxos. If you are able."

"My father and brothers were hunting, up the mountains, the Carpathians. They were gone many days and no word. Then, one night, we hear screaming from up the mountain. Louder than wolves or eagles. Coming toward our village.

"Our men, and my father, they come running, screaming from down the mountain. They have blood on their swords and themselves. The screaming followed them. 'Athanatoi!' my father yelled to the village. My mama, she ask father quickly what happened. I hear them. He said the Dacians have a sorcerer, a sorcerer who makes Athanatoi, makes alive the dead killed by Romans."

"But that's not possible, boy. The dead can't be raised. Then ine Athanatoi! They can't be. It’s superstition to scare children."

"No, Medicus Stefanos!" Daxos looked angrily at the Greek doctor, then back to Gaius. "It was immortui. During the fighting," he continued, "more and more coming from the woods. Our men and women dying fighting, children crying. My father grabbed me running by. He was hurt, his sword broken. He told me 'Go to Romans! Go to get help!' Then, after saying this, his face changed, his eyes, his mouth. He, my father, he attacked me." Daxos wiped a tear that was not there with a shaking hand. "I climb high up a tree to be safe, but I see all. My father, he…he killed my mother, tear her to pieces."

Gaius listened in disbelief, terrified and enraged. He was sick as the boy gave voice to the horrors that he had witnessed.

"My uncle, you know, he came with the axe and killed my father who fell on top of my dead mother. Then, my uncle run."

"What did you do, Daxos? How did you get away?" Gaius sat beside him, looking sidelong at his face.

"I…I spend night in the tree. Watching, hearing my whole village killed. Immortui, some of them eat the dead, and…others that were dead, wake up. When the sun came next day, they were all gone. Only silence and torn bodies. My…my mama and father in pieces below my tree. I run…I run, Optio Gaius…I run here, to Rome for help."

The tears flowed once more, real and full of feeling outside of his previous shock, and Gaius looked down with pity where the boy's bracae were wet with the terror of his tale.

"I can't believe this," Stefanos repeated. "It is just not scientifically possible."

"What if it is, Stefanos? What possible reason could a boy have for making this up?" Gaius looked back at the cave. "Mithras watches over us in the Dark. He is the Light. The Dacians and other barbarian tribes…they suffered defeat, but what's to say they have accepted it?" Gaius shook his head, his thoughts racing, hid blood hammering. "And now, Julius is out there with forty men. What's happened to them now?"

Daxos looked up. "Centurion is already dead, Optio."

Gaius stared at the boy and then at Stefanos.

"I'll go to Tribune Misenus. We need to march. At first light." Then he turned to Daxos. "I am truly sorry about your family. You are very brave, and I know your father would have been proud." Gaius knelt down in front of him. "Know this. We will march and we will fight. And, immortui or not, we will avenge your parents' deaths."

"What is it, Optio?" the tribune said from the courtyard of his quarters. Gaius stood out on the street where the doors to the six legionary tribunes' homes were. It was dark by then and the torchlight only aggravated the scowl on Misenus' face.

"Sir. I have some intelligence on the Thracian village. Centurion Lycus and the men may be in great danger.

Misenus, wrapped in a long blue cloak, came closer. "We can talk in my office. Follow me." Gaius followed him across the courtyard, his hobnails clacking with each step behind the tribune's leather-soled boots. "So, Optio? What intelligence do you have?"

Gaius sat on a stool Misenus motioned to and looked about the room. Antiques and family heirlooms hung on the walls where they were not covered by shelves of scrolls or maps. Gaius did not know Misenus very well, but from the look of things he was one to seek promotion, which meant he would do little to endanger that.

"Sir, it may be difficult to believe, but I think that the enemies Centurion Lycus went after are in fact… Immortui."

The tribune's hands went straight to his temples, as though massaging a long-standing headache.

"That's ridiculous, Optio."

"But the boy said that-"

"The boy? You mean to tell me that your so-called intelligence came from the boy who could barely speak? A Thracian settler?"