Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 00.5] Ulpius Felix- Warrior of Rome (11 page)

The Gallic Prefect turned to his men. “Come on, let’s get our comrades out of this shit hole.”

Soon there were three or four men pulling in the survivors who were beyond exhaustion.  The last two were the Prefect and Flavius. Marius looked at Vatia and the Gallic Prefect.  “Thank you.  We owe you.”

The Gaul said, “No, thank you. You have been badly treated.”

Just then Gerjen ran up to Flavius.  “Sir, where is Wolf?”

They all realised that the standard bearer had not been pulled ashore. They all began shouting his name and searching out over the river.  It was some time before they gave up.  The Navarchus brought the fleet over.  He leaned over the side.  “Sorry about that Prefect but I had my orders and the Legate is not a man to be crossed.”

“Did you see any more men when you were coming over?”
He shook his head.  “None living.”

All the exultation after their victory was now gone and they were all left with a sour taste in their mouths.  It would take a roll call to find the extent of their casualties but Marius knew that they had lost many and none more valuable than Wolf. They trudged back to the camp feeling as down as it was possible to be. Decurion Tullus had organised food and his men had begun making hot food.  The exhausted men who had had to swim across the river were grateful to feel the warmth seep into their bodies. There was no talk, no singing and no banter.  The men were numbed.  Their victory felt like a defeat and Marius and his officers sat around a fire staring into the flickering flames. Publius coughed. “Er sir?  There are one hundred and five missing men.  We have twenty wounded.  They should all survive.  We lost thirty horses.” That, in itself, was a miracle.  Many horses had lost their riders but joined the swim across the river with the rest of the herd. But men were harder to replace.

Marius stood up, angrily, “I am going to give the Legate a piece of my mind!”

Flavius stood and placed a hand on his chest. “And what good will that do sir?  The Legate doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to take insolence of that order lying down.  Where would that leave us eh? The Pannonians would be sent back home, without their hair and their honour and we would be shipped back to the Ninth. No sir.  The whole army knows what a prick the Legate is.  The Larks were singing the praises of the ala and the Gauls are as angry as we are.  You know how this army works sir.  Shit always rises to the top.”

Marius forced a smile, “Which doesn’t say much for me then does it?”

“No sir…”

“I am only joking Flavius and you are right.  But we brought these lads on a long journey and they deserve better than this.”

Cava said quietly, “I am the only true Pannonian on this river bank and those men who died, they are in heaven now.  They died fighting and they died with their honour intact.  There are none of them who would regret their deaths.  They are warriors. They died a warrior’s death.”

“What drowning in the river like poor Wolf?”

“You mean I died?” the pale figure of Wolf, leading a shattered and exhausted Blackie stepped into the firelight.  “Funny, this doesn’t feel like death.” And then his eye went up into his head and he collapsed.

They all raced to him. Sextus put his hand on his neck, “He is still alive.  I feel his heart beat.  Get a blanket for him.”

Cava shouted.  “Pannonians, the Wolf lives!”

In his office Corbulo jumped when he heard the roar from the river.  He turned to his aide.  “Is that the barbarians?”

The aide raced out and came back.  “Yes sir, it is our barbarians, they are cheering.”

The Legate would never understand these barbarians who fought a different way from the Romans; even when they fought on the Roman side!

Chapter 6

The Legate was pleased with the raid.  His precious legionaries had survived intact and the only losses had been the ones he could easily afford, the barbarians.  Appius Verres, his aide, was also pleased for he hated barbarians more than his general.  They smelled and they were uncouth.  They were good for one thing and that was dying for the Empire. “Have the Prefects make me a list of soldiers who deserve a phalerae.”

“Even the barbarians?”

“The Emperor says they will become citizens of the Empire, Appius, and the laws apply to them.”

A malicious look spread over the aide’s face like blood from an open wound. “But surely if they are citizens they should have Roman names.  Certainly the Gauls do.”

Corbulo smiled, he liked the young aide who attended to his every need, “True, Appius, but they have been in the Empire since the first Caesar.  These Pannonians are recent additions.”

“They have had their heads shorn; now we give them a Roman name and then they can have a phalera.”

Corbulo thought about that.  It would make life easier than trying to get your tongue around their horrific names. “Good.  Send for Prefect Proculus and I will tell him.”

The ala was busy cleaning armour and looking to their horses.  Wolf had insisted that he do as the others were doing but the Prefect took him to see the doctor in the legionary camp.  To ensure that he did not run away Marius stayed there. The Greek doctor removed the dressing and it was only then that the Prefect could see the extent of the damage. The rock had not been a round pebble but had rough edges and the bruising and scarring ran down Wolf’s cheek. There was no eye, just an angry red socket. The doctor cleaned it up.  You are lucky.” He used the Latin word Felix and Wolf looked at Marius for an explanation.

“The doctor says you are Felix, lucky.”

“Why is that doctor?”

“Two reasons, firstly the stone stopped before it entered your head fully,” he picked up a skull and showed him the eye sockets, “it is the brain behind these holes. Had it not stopped you would be dead.”

“And the other reason?”

“You had a good capsarius.  He cleaned the wound well and there is no pestilence within. However I will have to sew your eye shut or it will fester and you could die.”

Wolf nodded.  Marius had been about to leave and speak with the Legaste as he had been ordered but instead he said, “I will stay with you.” He gave a wan smile.  “It is the least I can do for the warrior who saved my life.”

As the doctor prepared the cat gut Wolf said, “I did not think you had seen sir.”

“I didn’t but Gerjen told me. You saved me from Sura and I am grateful. Your men love you, you know?”

“I know.” He shrugged, “It has always been so.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes doctor.”

“I would use ice to numb the pain but we have none.” He gave him a piece of wood.  “Bite down on this.”

Marius gave his hand to Wolf.  “Squeeze hard on this.  I have found that helps alleviate the pain.”

Marius saw Wolf wince as the needle went into his eyelid. In Wolf’s head, for he had his good eye closed, he was trying to see his mother back at the village but the searing heat of the needle made him want to cry.  He was determined he would not. The doctor was, like all Greek doctors, highly skilled and he carefully placed the needle as close to the eye socket as he could.  It would hurt the boy but many small stitches would help it to heal and to make it look better.

“Tell me doctor, how will this affect Wolf?”

“Eventually he will compensate for the loss of sight but for the next few months he will be vulnerable on his right side.”

“It will make defending himself difficult then?”

Wolf heard the words and made the connection. “I am not leaving the army sir!”

Smiling Marius said, “No one said that but Wolf I am afraid that you would not be able to defend the standard would you?”

Wolf hated the thought of not carrying the standard but he understood the Prefect’s words. “I suppose Gerjen could carry it until I am better.”

“Well we could do that anyway but I have a mind to promote you.”

“Promote me sir?”

“Yes Wolf, not the pay grade of an aquilifer but Decurion Bellatoris’ Chosen Man. It makes sense, the men follow you and the Decurion thinks highly of you.”

Wolf had forgotten the pain of the stitches.  He loved being standard bearer but he would be a leader! “Thank you sir.  I think that would be the best for the turma.”

The doctor put the last stitch in and stepped away smiling. “Finished! Now I will mix some medicine for you to take away the pain.”

“Wolf while the doctor does that I will see the Legate.  Wait for me here.”

“Yes sir.” Wolf looked around the doctor’s room.  It was filled with amphorae and dishes.  He watched the busy little doctor with a mortar and pestle grinding up white seeds. “Can I look around sir?”

“Of course but do not touch anything.  We have poisons here.”

As he wandered he asked, “Why do you have poisons?  You are a shaman are you not?  You heal people.”

“Shaman eh? I have not heard that word in a long time. Some poisons, given in a mild dose make a person go close to death and sleep. Sometimes that is what the body needs.”

“And if you give too much?”

“Then you try to save them by grinding charcoal and mixing it with water.”

Wolf had always been interested in medicine and he had a curious mind. “Which poisons?”

“Oh any poison.  It makes the patient vomit and the residue acts like a filter.  Sometimes it does not work but it is always available.” He poured the white liquid he had made into a small amphora. “There, drink a little of this each nigh.  I have given you enough for seven nights.”

“Thank you doctor.”

The doctor looked closely at Wolf. “I meant what I said you are lucky but you are also clever.  You will make a good leader.”

“How do you know?” Wolf hoped that this man, the cleverest he had ever met, knew something he did not.

“You ask questions and you are logical.” Wolf did not understand the Greek word and had a puzzled expression.  “It means you can take emotion out of your plans.  You want to remain standard bearer, I could see that, and yet you knew that it made sense to allow another to carry it.  That is logical. Thinking with the heart is dangerous.  The Gods gave us minds and we should use them.  A word of advice, do not lose your temper.  It gets you nowhere and once you have lost it, how do you regain it?  Better not to lose it than look for it. Here,” he picked up a metal bowl the size of a small shield; it was highly polished, “see yourself as others see you.”

Wolf saw himself for the first time and he gasped in horror at the bruised side of his face. “I am ugly!”

The doctor laughed and went to his drawer. “Your eye will heal and there are many women who will say that you are handsome,” almost under his breath he added, “and many men too.  Here wear this.” He tied a leather patch over the offending eye and Wolf sighed with relief.  It did not look so fearsome. “You may keep this but I suspect that you will, eventually not wear it,” he shrugged, “it is up to you.”

Wolf took the patch and put it on.  It felt strange. He could bear the pain and he could bear the scar.  They had both been earned as a warrior. He was truly a warrior now.

“Ready Wolf?” The Prefect’s voice sounded from outside.

“Coming sir; thank you doctor.” He placed the bowl down and clasped the doctor’s arm like a soldier.

The doctor was bemused.  “Thank you, er, Wolf.” As the boy left the doctor reflected that many so called civilised Romans would not have behaved with such dignity as that barbarian. He had admired his stoic attitude whilst being stitched. He was also intrigued by the questions.  That trooper was one to watch.

As they rode back to their camp the Prefect was distracted.  He heard Wolf ask something and realised he had not been listening.  “Sorry Wolf I am far away.  That patch looks good.  What did you ask?”

“I wondered sir, what the Legate wanted.”

“Tell me Wolf, how do you and the others feel about your names?”

“Our names sir?”

“Yes, Gerjen for example, would he object if he were not called Gerjen but, say, a Roman name such as mine.”

“But he is Gerjen, if you change his name, he will still be Gerjen.” Wolf could not understand the question.  The Romans had different names for the trees and the plants but the plant remained the same whatever it was called.

“Were you born and named Wolf?”

He grinned, “No sir, it was because of my appetite.  My mother named me Mada.”

“So you had a name chosen for you?”

“Yes sir.  I am sorry sir but where is this going?”

They were passing the Gallic camp and the auxiliaries shouted and grinned at them.  Marius raised his arm in salute. “Those Gauls all have Roman names and yet they were born with Gallic names.”

Wolf could now see where the questions were going. “The Legate wishes us to take Roman names. Is that what you are saying sir?”

“In a nutshell yes.”

Wolf wondered about names.  He would always be a wolf in his head.  He had the wolf token around his neck but he was also Chosen Man and he answered to that. “How do Roman names work?”

“You have a Praenomina, mine is Marius then you have a Nomen, like a family name, mine is Ulpius and sometimes, especially when you become Roman you have a Cognomen which says something about you, mine is Proculus and it means born during a father’s absence.”

“So you were born when your father was away?”

His curious mind could not help coming up with more questions.  It was like talking to an inquisitive child. “No Wolf that goes back some time in my family’s history.”

“I think we could ask the men and many would do it sir.  It still keeps you as you were and your own name is in your heart anyway.”

“Would you do it?”

“What is Roman for Wolf sir?”

“Lupus.”

He nodded and rolled the name around in his head. “A family name, that would be hard, what is yours sir?”

“Ulpius.”

“So I could be Lupus Ulpius. I like that.”

Marius smiled, this would work. “And of course the doctor gave you your name.”

“Did he sir, what is that? One eye?”

“No , Felix, lucky.  Lupus Ulpius Felix.”

Wolf grinned, “That sounds Roman and I like it.  I do not know about the others but if it helps I will be the first Pannonian with a Roman name.”