The Carpathian Interlude

Immortui-1

October - A.D. 8

"Hear us, great Father of Light! Receive our thanks for delivering us from the dark."

The words echoed off of the white-washed walls of the cave. All seventy men were silent upon their benches in that dark place, their heads bowed as they listened to the words. They had been eighty at one point but now ten walked in the light. Not bad, losing only ten.

Gaius Justus Vitalis spoke the words their Pater should have been speaking as their Saturn in the rites, but as he was away with the commander, it fell to the Heliodromus, the Sun Runner, to perform the ritual. The dark was lit only by two licks of flame behind him, on either side of the image of the tauroctony in which Mithras, Lord of Light, slew the great bull.

To the Heliodromus, the cave seemed smaller than usual, no doubt because of the size of the beast above him. He hoped the handlers had drugged it sufficiently. It was time.

"What time is it?" he called the question.

"It is the time of the season's death!" the men answered solemnly.

"Where are we going?"

"Into darkness!"

"What are you?"

"The Light! The Light! The Light!"

"And who are you?"

"Mithras! Mithras! Mithras!"

"Accept our offering…" he whispered as he thrust the gladius directly above his head into the soft flesh of the bull's belly. He sliced in four directions and the blood of the beast broke forth as water from a burst dam.

His arms held wide, eyes and mouth closed, Gaius Justus Vitalis, Optio of the third century of Legio V Macedonica, let the hot blood of the sacrifice wash over his entire person, staining his pure white robes crimson. He felt the power of his god in that sacrifice, as though he absorbed both light and blood in the ritual.

So this is what it feels like… he thought.

He then fought down the urge to vomit as the stink of the bull's punctured intestine spread. When the offal stopped falling, he stepped clear to accept a white towel from one of the Miles, his soldiers. The men began to file out of the cave, solemn, grateful to be alive as the sunlight that burned the fringes of some scattered clouds warmed their bodies.

"Vitellius," Gaius called to one of his men. "You and two others start cutting up the offering. Our century will dine on it tonight."

"Yes, Heliodromus," the man answered as they were still inside the sacred speleum, the cave.

"Be sure to wrap the thigh bones in the fat and offer them to Saturn."

"Yes, sir."

Gaius left the men to it and made his way out of the cave into the fresh October air. He closed his eyes when the sun touched his face. One…two…three breaths… When he opened his eyes he took in the expanse of the Danuvius and Porata rivers where the water fowl skirted their rippled surfaces in the morning breeze. The bald, grassy plains on either side of the rivers stretched on and on, greener now that the heat of summer had subsided. In the far northern distance, he observed the clouds where they clung to the Carpathian mountains, the slopes now awash with patches of green, gold and red.

"Better hurry, lads," he called into the cave. "The next century's going to be using the Mithraeum soon."

"Yes, sir," the three men answered in unison.

Gaius wrapped his gladius in the soiled towel and began making his way up the path to the legion's base, his bloody footprints fading as he got farther from the cave.

It was the thirty-fifth year of the reign of Augustus Caesar and the legions had been occupied the last couple of years in putting down a revolt in Pannonia and Dalmatia, from the Elbe to the Danuvius. King Maroboduus had finally been brought to heel with Tiberius leading the troops, ten legions in all, plus auxiliaries.

At the outset, when the fighting had proved grim and desperate, veteran and other legions had been called up, including the V Macedonica from the fortress at Troesmis in Moesia Inferior.

Gaius and his comrades had helped, it was said, to tip the scales in Rome's favour, and the men of the V Macedonica had returned to base honour-laden, if not exhausted, from a difficult campaign. There were many acts of heroism and decorations were to be given out at an assembly of the legion when all were returned to base. Two cohorts had yet to return.

An hour after the rites in the Mithraeum, Gaius eased into the hot water of the caldarium to wash the rest of the blood from his hair, face and body, after having scraped most of it away with strigil and oil. In his small corner of misted mosaic and torchlight, the optio allowed his mind to drift away from the cold collection of timber and stone overlooking the Danuvius river to his family in Rome. Fulvia, only two years his junior, would be approaching her thirty-third birthday which he would, of course, miss. He made a mental note to write and send her the Dacian bracelet he had acquired while on campaign. She always did love the exotic.

At six and seven years, he knew his wife would have her hands full with Faustina and Aemilia. He felt the loneliness then, as he thought of their childish laughter. Three years was far too long to have been away. He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair and splashed more water onto his face. He wondered how Fulvia would feel about the loss of his wild brown hair. She did love to run her hands through it. The outbreak of lice on campaign had spared no man, however, and the medicus had ordered all heads shaved. 'No use having men impaled by Germanic spears because they’re too busy scratching at lice!' he had said. Gaius figured he had had a point as he wrote the order to shave his men on the wax tablet that hung from his cingulum.

"Thinking of home again, Gaius!" boomed a bloody great voice proceeded by a big splash. Gaius stood to attention as his centurion, Julius Lycus Vernus, rose like a titan out of the water.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Gaius answered.

"Enough sirs for now, Gaius. We're off duty."

"Right. You startled me, is all."

"Ha. Nothing startles you." The centurion laughed and sat across from his optio.

Lycus was a monster of a man, scarred from many wars and tavern fights alike. He was brutal in battle and demanded the utmost of his men. As a career soldier, he was not one to accept mediocrity in his century and if he even caught a whiff of weakness, the crack of his vinerod would fix that. For a man as big and hard as a merchant ship, Gaius thought the bald head on Julius looked comic.

"Ahh!" The centurion rubbed his face and leaned back against the wall. "Good to be home!"

"Home…hmm."

"Oh stop that mumbling, Gaius. I know you miss your lovely wife and sprats. Believe me, I understand." Gaius doubted it since Julius always said that he would only marry after retiring and then, it would be to a girl forty years younger who would give him ten children. "But don't delude yourself. You're not going home soon. I wager there are more of those barbarian bastards deep in those woods, waiting to strike back. Mark me!"

"We whipped them pretty good though, sir."

"Aye, that we did. But you never know, do you? Besides, I’m not ready to stop fighting. And I've got you to do all the grunt work. Ha!" He slammed a hammy fist into Gaius' oiled arm. The optio knew what was next: the compulsory encouragement talk.

"You know, Gaius, best thing I ever did was promote you to optio. I can trust you and you fight like a disciplined demon in the thick of it." At this point, Julius turned to the rest of the bathers. "Best f*****g optio in the legions!" he bellowed, his parade ground voice echoing off the painted walls. "You'll see your family again. We'll be due a furlough at some point."

"The men could use it, to be sure. And me." Gaius never got his hopes up about that sort of thing. Too many cancelled furloughs over the years. They could both hear the wind howl beyond the high windows of the bath house. The centurion grew serious.

"How did the rites go?"

"Well," Gaius answered, the Sun Runner to the Pater.

"Do the men walk in the Light?"

"They walk in the Light."

"Good. I wished I could have joined you." He paused and looked curiously at Gaius, his voice low, honest. "Did you feel it? The power?"

"I did," Gaius bowed his head. "Mithras was with us."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"Truly."

Without another word, Julius's naked bulk rushed from the hot water.

"We should join the lads back at barracks now, The feast'll be ready. You set them to it right away?"

"Yes. Vitellius was in charge."

"Good. Let's go."

Gaius followed his centurion to the apodyterium to gather their things, foregoing the cold waters of the frigidarium in favour of meat and wine. His thoughts of home, of family, would have to wait. As they dressed into fresh tunics and bracae, Gaius asked about the meeting with the consular legate fresh from Achaea.

"It was good. He's a new chap, lips puckered up to Tiberius. Son of someone close to Augustus."

"Any orders?"

"Just to hold our end of the frontier and keep a watch over the other side of the river. Any sign of trouble and we're to stomp it out."

"What about decorations for the men?" Gaius knew the men needed the encouragement for the blood they'd lost.

"Oh well, that…" Julius smiled. "III Century will be the most decorated."

"Really?"

"Yes. And Gaius Justus Vitalis, you are receiving three honours. Second only to myself, of course. I'll be getting four."

Gaius could not help but smile. "When?"

"Tomorrow, I think. The last two cohorts were spotted not half a day's march from here."

As they stepped out into the brightly lit street of the base, Gaius whistled his favourite tune, the one he whistled to his wife when they had first met. It always seemed to cheer him.

It was near to midnight. Gaius stood on the top of one of the towers facing the river. Their century had been handed second watch and the men, however reluctantly, had put their armour back on after an evening of roasted meat and wine. It was bad luck, but they had no choice in the matter. Julius and Gaius had managed to gather the men and march them up to the walls and main gates of the via Praetoria and via Decumana. Julius was now making the rounds, rousing any man who dared to doze, leaning on his scutum or pilum. Gaius swore he could hear the crack of the centurion's vinerod somewhere on the other side of the fortress.

He set his five-foot hastile against the battlements and leaned on the cold stone. His breath fogged in the air before him and he pulled his crimson cloak tighter about himself. Above, a few raked clouds drifted across the night sky. The moon was a full, silver disc, its light blanketing the green grass of the plain in grey. Beneath Selene's light, the Danuvius flowed like quicksilver, wide and deep and cold. Gaius missed the heat of home, the colour of oranges and bougainvillea, of olive groves, and gleaming white marble. Long ago days by the turquoise sea were a far cry from the deep, midnight blue of the Danuvius.

"Mithras…" he whispered, "…light our way in this dark place. Make us strong…me and my brothers…"

His prayers were broken by a distant rhythm that he recognized as the jingle of soldiers' kit and tramping hobnails. The ominous wail of a cornu sounded in the night. Across the river, a wolf howled long, slow and sad. Gaius did not know if it howled at the moon or in answer to the cornu's wail.

On the plain, the two returning cohorts came into view, their perimeter lit by torches carried by auxiliary cavalrymen. At the front, the two tribunes rode side by side before their men, the vexillaria swaying in the air above their heads. A long line of legionary red appeared as the jingle of their equipment became louder. Gaius watched a moment longer then turned, donning his crested helmet and grabbing his staff.