The legions of Rome were assembled outside the ruins of Sarmizegetusa Regia. The capital had been set ablaze by the Dacians themselves as the Romans began to break through their walls. The Dacian king, Decebalus, had fled to evade capture and committed suicide, slicing his own throat with his falx. He would rather die than be paraded through the streets of Rome.
As Imperator Traianus prepared to return home for his Triumph, he owed one last duty to the legionnaires who’d brought him victory and the many accolades accompanying it—the awarding of honors to those who’d earned them. “Last, but not least, the XXX Ulpia, named after our victorious Imperator! Henceforth, you shall bear the name XXX Ulpia Victrix in honor of the victory you helped to achieve!” the emperor’s herald cried out.
The men of the XXX Ulpia Victrix sent up a hearty yell in response. Their deeds would take root as the history of their legion; even after they were gone, their legend would outlive them. The herald waited for the men to quiet down before continuing on. Names were called and promotions and honors granted as they worked through the ranks.
“Tesserarius Lucius Silvanius of I Centuria, VI Cohort!” the herald cried.
Lucius’s steps and turns were of the highest quality as he marched to the platform where the Imperator sat. Back straight, he issued his crispest salute and stood perfectly still.
“Tesserarius Silvanius, for exemplary service to your centuria and legio, you are awarded this silver phalera.” The primus pilus of his legion walked forward and placed a silver disc bearing the image of the imperator on the left side of the harness Lucius wore. It was secured over his heart, opposite of the bronze phalera he’d been awarded for his actions in saving his vexillation the previous spring.
“Next,” the herald continued, “for your actions organizing a half centuria and coming to the relief of the X Cohort of the XXX Ulpia Legio and saving the lives of over 350 of your comrades, you are awarded the Corona Civica.”
Stunned silence descended over the men before the legion broke into loud cheers. The Corona Civica was rarely awarded; it required direct testimony from the person whose life had been saved fighting off Rome’s enemies, making it the highest honor a common legionnaire could earn. The primus pilus stepped back out. This time he carried a chaplet made of oak leaves and branches; acorns clustered about it.
“Kneel, Tesserarius Silvanius,” the legion’s highest-ranking centurion commanded.
Lucius knelt before the centurion as the older man placed the chaplet on his head.
“This is an honor few men earn, even fewer of your age. Congratulations,” added the primus pilus—the highest-ranking centurion of a legion. “You may rise now.”
Lucius stood. The imperator rose from his chair and approached him.
“Centurio Brabo tells me the men call you ‘Ferrata’?”
“Yes, Imperator.”
“Based on your deeds and service, it’s well earned.” The imperator attached a gold phalera to the center of the harness just above Lucius’s sternum. It bore the eagle of Rome’s legions. “Centurio Brabo has requested you as his optio. You’ve been given one of Rome’s highest honors and a promotion into the I Cohort. You’ve done well for yourself for one so young. I look forward to hearing what you’ll accomplish next. The legions need more men with your iron will.”
The imperator returned to his chair and nodded at the primus pilus of the XXX Ulpia Victrix. The centurion returned the nod, then addressed Lucius.
“Report to Centurio Brabo for details of your new position. Well done, Optio Lucius Silvanius Ferrata.”
The herald called out to the legions, “Optio Lucius Silvanius Ferrata.”
Lucius walked over to Centurion Brabo to the sound of the cheering legions. He stopped before Brabo, back ramrod straight, and saluted the centurion. “Thank you, Centurio.”
“You’ve earned it, lad. When we’re done here, get your gear and report to the primus pilus for your tent assignment.”
* * *
“You just got promoted to Tesserarius, Cassius. I think it’s a bad idea to use your position to sneak out of camp in the hope some Dacian girl will lead you to a hidden treasure cache,” Sego’s voice rose from the shadows behind their tent.
Lucius slowed down and silently edged forward.
“Always playing it safe, Sego. If it weren’t for the fact that you stand at the front of the line with nothing but the Centurial Signum in your hands, I’d think you were a coward.”
“Fuck you, Cassius. I’m not one of your new little cronies, always begging for your favor. You can’t goad me by calling me a coward. I like my place. I’ve earned it. I don’t need to chase after imaginary riches, hoping to rise above my station. Have fun with your Dacian, but leave me out of your schemes.”
“Fine,” Cassius barked. “Go spend the night with that Aegyptii, Amosis. I’ve seen you eyeing each other since he transferred into the centuria.”
“I think I will. He’s much better company than you. I won’t rat you out Cassius, but neither will I cover for you. You’re on your own.”
Hob-nailed caligae marched away from the tent as Sego left for his assignation. Cassius muttered, “Coward.”
Lucius was still standing there when Cassius emerged from behind the tent. Spying Lucius’s newly awarded medals, Cassius stopped; his eyes opened wide, mouth forming an “o” of surprise.
“Cassius…”
“Eavesdropping is a bad habit for an optio,” Cassius sneered.
Lucius ignored the comment, and the tone. “Planning some unauthorized nighttime reconnaissance?”
“It’s none of your business. Why don’t you go play with your oak leaves and kiss Brabo’s ass some more.”
“Hades below, Cassius. Is that any way to talk to your friends?”
“Friends? Aren’t we all just out for ourselves, optio?”
“Cassius, whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. Your new centurio is not someone to mess with. He’s not like Brabo. His old centuria calls him ‘Centurio One More.’ Whenever he breaks one of his vine rods, he doesn’t stop, he just yells for another one. If you get caught, this won’t go well for you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement, optio.” Cassius slammed his shoulder into Lucius’s side as he walked past.
“Cassius!”
Cassius kept walking.
“Tesserarius!”
Cassius spun around and made a rude gesture, then saluted. Although technically correct, it couldn’t have been delivered with more venom. He turned and walked into the darkness.
Lucius sighed. How was their friendship so fragile for Cassius to throw it away over mere jealousy? It was a good thing Lucius was being transferred to another century. Perhaps distance would heal the gaping wound. He ducked and entered the tent he’d shared with his contubernium.
Somehow, all eight of them had come through the last two years of fighting alive and intact, physically at least. So far, the only casualties their tent had suffered were the friendships they’d forged. Lucius gathered up his meager belongings and headed toward his new post, and the sleeping arrangements that came with it.
Lucius’s fortunes had launched him ahead of the other new optios into the prestigious I Cohort; it only had five centuries, but each was double strength. He’d be second in command of a 150-man cohort, outranking most other optios in the legion, save for the optios I-IIII of I Cohort. He tried not to let Cassius’s bad attitude dampen his pride; he’d accomplished so much in only his twenty-first year. More than ever, Lucius wished he could get word to his father. Their bond, at least, was ironclad.
The optio of the I Cohort was the only optio to get his own tent. The flap was propped open, letting the brisk spring air inside. An older man, probably in his early thirties, was sitting at a makeshift desk, shuffling through some paperwork.
“Optio Demetrios?” asked Lucius.
“Yes.” The older man turned; his eyes brightened. “You must be the new wonder kid Brabo brought with him. He dropped off your rank crest and feathers earlier before heading to a meeting. I set them on your bed.”
Demetrios turned back to his paperwork and let Lucius settle in. Gear stowed, he set about affixing the blue crest to his helmet; it matched the legion’s emblem colors and ran front to back. Two white feathers attached just above each ear. It was the late in the evening, but he couldn’t help trying it on.
“It’s quite the feeling the first time you get to wear your rank on your helmet. Makes you a good mark in battle, but it’ll make you visible to ours, too. Although, looks like I’ll be losing the pool.”
“Pool?” Lucius asked.
“Yeah, me and some of the optios bet on how long it’d take you to make it out of your contubernium and into a crest.” He stopped to think. “Shit, Brabo is probably closest. But he’ll have a tough time collecting since he’s the one who promoted you.” Seeing the look of shock on Lucius’s face, Demetrios added, “Don’t worry, you’ve earned the spot. We’ve been watching you since you pulled the X’s bacon out of the fire. Brabo selected you because he trusts you.” He stood from his desk with his papers in hand. “I’ve got to turn in these reports. We’ll talk more later.”
Demetrios gave Lucius a companionable pat on to the shoulder and departed. Lucius sat in the camp chair, staring at his helmet and its new adornments. Finally, he made a decision. After strapping on his helmet, he grabbed his scutum out of its case and marched back to his old tent.
Everyone stayed clear of the young optio with his purposeful step and determined and angry eyes.
He grabbed the flap, pulled it aside, and stuck his head in. He was unprepared for what he interrupted—Sego and another man splayed out and nearly nude.
Lucius pulled his head out as fast as he could. His new crest caught on the tent pole; he cleared it with a curse and flipped the tent flap closed, blushing from the top of his head to his scarf covered neck. A legionnaire with dark black skin Lucius didn’t know came running up and spoke through the tent wall.
“Shit, sorry, Amosis. He walked by while I was distracted.” The legionnaire turned to Lucius. His eyes drifted up to the marks of rank. Straightening up, he saluted. “Optio.”
Sego and a darkly complected man who must be Amosis popped out of the tent, hastily settling tunics and fastening belts. They straightened and saluted, “Optio!”
Sego looked past the helmet and crest. “Lucius? Wow, the crest suits you. Um, about what you saw a moment ago…”
Amosis stood rigidly straight, as if waiting for inspection.
Lucius raised his hand. “No, it’s OK, Sego. I’m sorry for interrupting. So, Cassius wasn’t kidding?”
“No, we’ve known each other for a long time. Cassius knows where my interests lie,” Sego replied. “Are we going to have a problem here?”
Lucius shook his head. “I doubt you’re the first legionnaires to enjoy each other’s company. I’m not here to police who you have sex with. I’m going after Cassius before he gets himself demoted…or executed. He hasn’t been talking to me lately. Do you know where he’s going?”
“I don’t know where this mysterious treasure of his is, but I know where the woman is. She’s got a tent on the edge of the camp where the followers are. Shit, you probably shouldn’t go by yourself. You might need some help getting Cassius to come back. Amo, can you and Bomilcar help?”
Amosis had finally relaxed. “Of course, Sego. Bomilcar?”
“Why not?” Bomilcar shrugged. “Nothing else going on, and this beats losing at dice.”
“Get geared up and meet here as soon as you can. If you see anyone you completely trust, bring them,” Lucius said.
While he was waiting, a couple of his old contubernium mates showed up and decided to pitch in. When Sego’s lover and his friend returned, Lucius had six men counting himself. They fell in behind him as they marched to the nearest gate towards the woman’s camp. Lucius gave the pass code and headed out into the evening.
Striding out in front, Sego waved everyone behind a tent they were about to pass by. The men ducked into the shadows. They soon figured out why.
“You couldn’t get anyone to come with you?” a woman asked, her voice raised and irritated. She was speaking in heavily Dacian accented Latin. “Either your friends are cowards, or you can’t even lead your own piss to a latrine trench.”
Cassius reared back and let loose a heavy slap. Lucius expected the woman to crumple. Instead, she caught Cassius’s hand at the wrist, halting his arm mid swing. She squeezed until Cassius flinched.
“If you try that again, I’ll slit your throat and let the dogs have your corpse, Roman.” Her words dripped with disdain as she threw his arm down.
Looking around to ensure no one saw his humiliation, Cassius rubbed his wrist. Lucius waved his small squad further into the shadows, ducking the rest of the way behind the tent and out of sight.
“Will you still take me to the hiding spot?” Cassius’s voice carried a wheedling note to it.
“Fine, follow me.”
Lucius peeked. The two of them were heading away from camp, and fortunately, away from their hiding spot. He gave them time, checking periodically to ensure he knew where they were going. Cassius seemed entirely focused on the path to riches ahead, ignoring anything that might be creeping up behind him. Confident of their chances, Lucius waved his men from their hiding space. Abandoning their purposeful march, they snuck through the shadows, keeping low to stay out of sight.
If they continued in the direction they were going, they’d be in the rugged hills that surrounded the ruins of Sarmizegetusa Regia. It wasn’t long before Cassius and the woman disappeared into a copse of trees, straddling a rocky formation that jutted out of the ground. Lucius signaled to pick up their pace. They jogged toward the copse until Lucius waved them down into the tall grass. In the darkness ahead, a torch flared to life, illuminating the opening to a cavern.
Lucius signaled for his squad to move forward.
They crept into the cave, keeping the light visible in front of them. Occasionally, a lighted torch was found stuffed into a ring in the wall. They tried to keep to the sandy dirt to muffle the hobnails of their caligae.
Lucius raised his fist, halting his squad.
“You promised me gold!” Cassius shouted; it sounded as if he were just around the corner.
“I promised you treasure beyond your imagination. I never specified gold,” the woman replied.
The sound of a gladius leaving its scabbard put everyone on high alert, hands reaching for their own. Lucius waved them down.
“I’ve had enough of your promises! Take me to the gold, or I’ll shove this fucking sword into your lying guts.”
“That won’t be necessary, will it? Drop the sword, Roman.”
The sound of steel hitting the rock floor caused Lucius to slowly withdraw his gladius from its sheath, making next to no noise. The other five legionnaires followed suit.
“You foolish Roman. Now, the only treasure will be for me. You could have had so much. Please lie down.” Metal shuffled against rock. “Very good. Mmmmmmm.”
Lucius waved his men forward. They crept up and edged around the corner, hoping to take advantage of his friend’s distraction.
The scene before Lucius as he rounded the corner was not what he’d expected to find. There was no second tryst like the one he’d embarrassed himself to find. Instead, Lucius found Cassius on his back, a look of ecstasy on his unnaturally pale face as the woman clamped her teeth to his neck. Blood dribbled out of the corners of her mouth. A crimson pool was growing around Cassius’s neck and shoulder.
The weight of one of his men bumped into his back, jolting him free of his terror. “Get away from him!” Lucius shouted, striding forward.
The woman leapt up. Cassius’s blood coated her face and chin, dripping down her neck. Her stained red teeth parted in a snarl, revealing two needle sharp fangs that descended from her upper jaw. Where her fingernails should have been, she had long, animal-like claws. Lucius would never forget the look of hunger mixed with hate in her eyes as she lunged for him.
He barely raised his scutum in time to keep her from ripping out his throat. She shoved him back with the strength of several legionnaires. He dug in, putting everything he had into keeping his shield between him and the monster thirsting for his life. Lucius swung his gladius below the shield to catch her in the legs, but she dodged it with grace.
It wasn’t until she tried to climb over the shield that he caught a break. Training and reflexes kicked in as her left arm rose, exposing her ribcage and armpit. The lightning quick stab caught her by surprise as the point of the gladius parted her ribs and sank into her heart. She shrank back as Lucius twisted the blade and withdrew it, lopping off her head.
Lucius dropped his shield and sword and slid into the dirt next to his friend, covering the gaping wound in Cassius’s neck with both hands. “Oh, Cassius…”
The rest of the squad stood around him as Cassius, paler than newly bleached linen, gasped for breath. His unfocused eyes twitched left and right as Lucius struggled to stop his friend’s lifeblood from spilling into the dirt. Tears streamed down Lucius’s face.
“Lucius, I hear someone coming from deeper in the cave. Lucius?”
The five men fanned out, blocking the cave with their shields to put a wall between whatever was approaching and Lucius and Cassius.
“Halt! Who goes there?” shouted one of the legionnaires.
Cassius’s movements became fainter, his breaths shallower, until the blood stopped pumping out of the hole in his neck. Lucius closed his eyes and hung his head over the body, tears mingling with his friend’s blood.
“Lucius, we need you. Lucius. Someone’s coming.”
“Wha…what?”
“Someone’s coming from deeper in the cave! We need you.”
Lucius pulled himself together. Grabbing handfuls from a patch of clean dirt, he worked to get the blood off his hands. Clean enough to work, he picked up his scutum and gladius. “Sego, you’re the best runner here,” he spoke, his voice trembling. “Get back to the camp and bring help. We’ll hold them off as best we can.”
Sego hesitated, then nodded. Slamming his gladius back in its sheath and setting his scutum against the wall, he took off, kicking up dust behind him.
“We may have to hold out for a while,” Lucius advised. “Amosis, Bomilcar, step back. We’ll hold the gap. When I signal, you’ll switch with Julian and Hector. Let’s keep as fresh as we can. If things get dicey, we’ll fall back.”
They set their lines just in time. A howling horde of Dacians burst forth from the back of the cave. They repelled the initial attack, but Lucius and his friends were greatly outnumbered. The Dacians pushed them back, forcing Lucius to abandon Cassius’s body.
Lucius kept his small squad rotating, never taking a break himself. They just didn’t have enough men. His only goal was to keep them moving backwards. If they were surrounded, they’d lose their only escape route. His men’s movements had begun to slow; he feared the next rotation wouldn’t be enough, and the Dacians would break their line.
A cooling breeze pushed up against his skin, slick with sweat and worse things. They were close. The air had begun to taste fresh. He could hear the sound of caligae marching and men shouting in Latin. Relief had come.
“Everyone on the line!”
The men in relief attacked, bolstering their comrades. Soon, fresh legionnaires surged through the gaps and pushed back the Dacians. Seeing the tide was turning, their enemy broke off in ones and twos, fleeing back into the cavern. Lucius and his men worked their way to the back, dripping sweat and gasping for breath.
When the last of the Dacians had fled or been killed, the legionnaires searched for Cassius’s body, but found only the blood-soaked dirt he’d bled out in. His body had been dragged away along with the creature that had killed him.
Lucius’s friend was truly gone.