Centurion

Firelight glinted from the pommel of Marius’s sword, and he wondered how something so polished, could feel so dirty. He gripped the wooden handle, that he had also cleaned to a shine, and pinned the tip of its blade into the sand. A place it could do no more harm. His Gladius had survived every battle on the cursed trek through Arabia, and was beginning to show its tired age in the same way that he was. It had faded under the harsh sun, been abraded by the sand and was stained with gallons of blood that was wiped free, yet still remained to his eye. Marius finished up his ministrations to the blade and tossed another precious log onto his private fire. The sky was bright with the Gods graces that night and provided ample light to work by, but it was the cold of the desert that he hoped to abate. The forsaken land that he was forced to delve into, burned with extremes. Heat by day and frigid cold by night. Marius looked down the line of canvas and wondered how many more of Gallus’s legion wished to abandon the failing cause, and simply return home to greener lands.

The hypnotic dance of flame released Marius after a time he could not measure, and he looked up to see a soldier, stood just beyond its glow. Realising he had been noticed, the man stepped forward. He looked nervous.

“Centurion Vitas, might I speak with you?” He asked.

Marius sighed and shifted his foot to hide a skin of fresh water from view. It was incredible how much value simple things took on, in their scarcity. He raised a hand in permission, gesturing to the fireside and waited for the legionary to sit.

“The night is cold, I thank you for your welcome” he said, rubbing his hands together and warming himself. In acknowledgement of the soldier's thanks, Marius simply nodded once. The man still wore his armour, like most did at night. Marius found it offered little extra warmth, and he preferred to be comfortable. His woollen tunic was enough. If he were to be attacked in his sleep, he imagined his armour would do little to save him and at least he would meet his ancestors without a sore back.

“I notice you make camp alone often. Do your men offer no worthwhile company?” The stranger asked. Marius noticed just how young the soldier was from his words. His immaturity shone through the intrusive question. His chin was smooth, and his hair dark with matching auburn eyes. They did not yet reflect the weariness of battle, which was impressive in itself.

“Plague and illness have infested our ranks since Nabatea. There are still those that suffer. I would avoid their miasma.” Marius explained.

“‘tis not the snoring, then?” The soldier asked, jest plain on his face. Marius offered him an amused exhale of breath and a short smile.

“What can I do for you Legionary? You are not one of mine.”

“My name is Junius Caius, Centurion, and that is precisely my request. I hope to join your contingent.”

Marius gifted him with full laughter that time, and when the child set his jaw in offence, he forced a question through his dying mirth,

“What would I do with scrawn such as you? Your shield would stand a full length lower than the line! We assault Marib on the dawn. No. Stay where Gallus has placed you.”

“You must not yet have heard of Junius the nimble!” He surged, “It was I that felled a great giant at Mekka! It was I that held the wall of Medina when all around me had fallen, and it was I that crossed the desert upon weightless feet! Never once touched by the exhaustion that took so many! You would do well to judge a man by his merits rather than his stature, Centurion!”

“And you would do well to remember your place, Legionary.” Marius hissed, impressing a silence around the fire with his anger. When it had stretched long, and the young man was looking to rise, defeated, Marius felt the uncommon desire that he stay. It calmed his indignation as if the cold had finally overcome his body and slowed his heart fire. The boy had been right about one thing. His solitary nights were…uncomfortable, despite being of his own making, “Giant, you say?” he asked, genuinely curious, “I have seen only barbarians amongst the Arabian ranks. How tall was this beast?”

“At least five hands taller than any man!” Junius said, smiling ear to ear, “I measured him as a horse, for he was more akin to an animal, bound with muscle and hair as he was! But that did not save him from my blade, quick as lightning I struck, thrusting upward into his most vulnerable flesh and ending him before he could grapple me with his wide hands!”

“His most vulnerable flesh? You are certainly a brutal warrior…” Marius teased.

“His neck, sir! His neck!”

Marius laughed again at the outrage in the youngster's eyes. He envied it. To think that he too had once thought honour belonged anywhere in war. The only reason Marius had survived so long was that he was willing to do what was required to live, including taking advantage of any vulnerability. The boys attitude was refreshing though, and he had not laughed twice in a day for a very long time.

“So, why would one of such accolade want to transfer to my command? Especially on the eve of our final battle in this forsaken pit?”

“They say you came all the way from Rome itself. That you have fought and won in more battles than any other here and that you must be among those favoured by Mars! Most of your men have survived the desert crossing, where so many did not, because you extend that blessing to them. Their names are known across the empire as some of the fiercest warriors ever known. I would join those ranks and have my name tallied against theirs. I am worthy of it, and I will prove it!”

“Hm. They say all that about a simple Centurion? Tell me, if it were all true, then why am I not already General of all Romes armies?”

“They say you reject all promotion, that you choose to stay and protect your men.”

“Well. That would be mighty charitable of me, would it not?” Marius said, deflecting the praise and avoiding admitting it was the truth.

“Please, Centurion Vitas. I will not disappoint you.”

Marius felt the need in the man's stare, and he remembered that desperation for glory. He also knew how it had faded with the years, and how many men had died never knowing the desire satisfied or quenched.

“Where are you from, Junius?” he asked.

“Crete, sir.”

“This is a long way to travel, for something as intangible as a name. What do you leave behind for this pursuit?”

“Nothing.” The boy said, “A village, whose boats stink of fish and where there is little but olive groves for miles. The women are rounded and think of nothing but children and cooking. Life is static, closed and dreary. I escaped it all and replaced that life with one of meaning. One of value to the empire.”

“The empire needs fish and olives, just as much as it needs soldiers.” Marius countered, “It sounds much like the home I left, which was one of sheep and grape vines. My hope is that once we hold Arabia, and the Emperor has his trade road to the east secured, then I will return to my families slopes and take up the trade I long ago abandoned. Perhaps, once you become a legend among the legion, you will desire your home anew as I do.”

“No,” Junius replied, “I cannot see ever wishing to return to a simple place like that, not having seen all the world and its many wonders.”

Marius gave a knowing nod and looked up to the star speckled sky.

“I said the same thing. Now, it is all I dream of. Fresh grapes, loud children, and especially, round women,” He chuckled in sorrow at the night. “Perhaps boy, I will have time to show you what took me far too long to learn. That the satisfaction you seek is not found at the end of a blade. You may join my century. I only ask that you follow my example in all things. Obey my command, and you might just live long enough to desire the simplicity of your home once again.”

Marius lowered his eyes, wondering if he would come to regret the choice, but found nothing but desperate gratitude and joy looking back at him. He could not help but be warmed by the young man's adoration, and only hoped, that he was worthy of it.

Once invited, Judius remained at the fireside for the rest of the night. Marius drank deeply from his water skin and tossed the remainder to the boy. There was no use hoarding it now. On the dawn they would either have a plentiful supply from the city or no longer need any at all. When he drank greedily from it, Marius saw the lie of the young mans boasts. Judius was just as fatigued, broken and thirsty as the rest of his men. Perhaps his whole story of greatness was a front to gain access to his best chance of survival - Marius’s protection. Should his ambition truly be revealed as solely the drive to live, it would still be sufficient to earn his keep among the ranks. Marius himself had only dealt death so readily, to avoid it himself. They spoke long into the night, the young mans optimism making light of Marius’s realism. The two ends of age and perspective battled and danced against one another, making the evening more engaging, and distracting, than any battle-eve Marius had endured to date. It was in that satisfied state, that he fell asleep. Content in the company of a fascinating new ward, to replace all those that had died in his care to date.

Dawn came early the next day, and after a nod of greeting and a heavy hand to the shoulder of his new man, a bloody and despairing battle followed. Marius rallied his unit, and gifted his share of souls to the Gods. Both enemy by the sword, and friend by the lack of it. Burdened by their catastrophic journey across the waste that was the desert, his men were weak, tired and in poor form. So many were lost, so much blood spilled into the soil, only to end in defeat at the hands of a barbaric tribe of disorganised mercenaries. Coin, it seemed, attracted a vast number of spears. Marius, as always, was burdened with his ongoing life.

It was not for many hours, after wading through broken bodies of his countrymen, that he had gathered what was left of his force. When it became clear that Judius was not among them, Marius felt the sting of the loss, but allowed no tears for what could have been. As he was so accustomed to doing, he buried the grief along with the memory of their kinship and stepped forward to lead the remaining men home. Each of them deserving just as much of him as the lost boy. He mused only that once he was finally released from service, he might visit a certain Crete village for some fresh fish and the attention of wholesome women, upon his long journey home.