“Most of the men were still followers of the old gods, so I’ve asked for several of the camp’s priests to do an offering ceremony. We were forced to do a quick cremation right after the battle, but obviously we would like the chance to send our dead an offering, since it was so rushed. I’d hate to not take the time to give them peace.” Constantine’s fingers absently rubbed the Imperial coin on the braid around his neck.
Alexandros turned his head, considering. “I thought you weren’t very religious,” he said, thinking back to conversations they’d had in Copendrium.
Constantine gave a slight shrug. “It can’t hurt, and can only help morale. When it comes to my dead men, they deserve the best, whether I believe in it or not.”
I completely agree with him. Religion can help soothe a soul, especially when used to heal, not to ultimately hurt. “What did you get for the customary sacrifice?” Alexandros asked. It was traditional to offer an animal to appease the spirits, where the living ate for the dead who could no longer partake of mortal food.
Constantine’s mouth quirked. “I pulled rank and grabbed an ox from requisitions. Our dead deserve the best we can give them, even if it is half cold and tough as my shoe.”
The tribune began pulling on his gear, preparing to leave the tent. Alexandros replaced his warm woolen airman’s cap on his head and set the now-empty wine glass back on the small folding table.
“I also commissioned the creation of a cenotaph for our dead. We’ll erect it before we leave this gods-forsaken country. Unfortunately, I’m sure we’ll have to add more names to that list. Few instead of many, I hope,” Constantine added, his voice muffled as he pulled on his segmented lorica armor, the shining strips of steel rippling down his chest and shoulders. He buckled on his belt pouches and adjusted several straps and armor pieces.
Alexandros felt a tad underdressed as the infantryman continued to layer on gear and components. Finally the tribune adjusted his cloak and secured it around his neck. “Are you ready? We may be late to the ball,” Alexandros asked, unable to keep the mirth from his voice.
Constantine gave him a haughty look and marched past; Alexandros followed him into the street. They walked along the cold but bustling avenues. What had been semi-solid permafrost was now riddled with puddles and wagon ruts, along with the occasional larger depression of a mechaniphants’ foot. When they arrived at the camp’s outer perimeter, Constantine showed his pin to the sentries. “We’ll be back in about an hour,” he told them.
They walked toward the prearranged assembly area, where a large contingent of the 13th Cohort, XIII Germania waited around a hastily erected altar. “Everyone here?” Constantine asked. Gwendyrn nodded solemnly.
The large, mustachioed under-officer had recently become the new cohort centurion. He wore a temporary badge in place of the more permanent centurion’s pin. The Gaul had claimed that he would not wear the permanent mark of authority until Centurion Caesar was confirmed dead. Alexandros had been very sorry to hear of the man’s death during the aerial combat earlier in the week.
The priest approached the altar, followed by several attendants. One led the sacrificial ox while another carried a smoldering censer full of sweet-smelling incense. Bowing his head before the podium, the priest lifted his arms and began the funeral prayer in a clear, penetrating voice that cut through the still, cold winter air. He chanted in High Latin, and Alexandros closed his eyes and took comfort in the ancient prayers.
When the ceremony was finished and the small feast from the dead ox had been shared out equally to legionnaire and officer alike, Alexandros discovered that Senatora Pelia had joined the ceremony sometime after it had started. He greeted her in the manner of the Roman courts, placing his heels sharply together and bowing from the waist. He was not surprised to see the tribune echo his motions. Pelia inclined her head graciously in response to their bows, as befit a senator of Rome.
“Senetora Pelia, I had not expected to see you here.”
The senetora looked tired, and her hair was slightly unkempt. Mud had stained the hem of the more formal stola she wore and probably added an additional five or ten pounds to the draped garment. She spread her arms. “It is the job of an Empire to celebrate, and at times mourn, the loss of its loyal and brave soldiers. I am here both because it is the right thing to do, and because it is the honorable thing to do.” She paused. “I did inquire whether General Minnicus would be joining us. He was. . preoccupied at the time. Something about personal tutoring?” she finished rather wanly. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I would like to make the rounds to thank your men, Tribune Appius. That’s how my father would have done it, and that is how I would like to do this as well.”
Constantine nodded. “As you wish, Domina.”
Alexandros watched the tribune out of the corner of his eye as the young senatora moved away. He could distinctly see the young man’s eyes following the not-quite-concealed feminine curves of her body beneath the flowing stola. He nudged Constantine in the ribs when Pelia was far enough away. “Don’t get any ideas, young man. I’m fairly certain your father already has a match in mind for you.”
Constantine stared at him, eyes wide. “What? How? When? Who?” he sputtered.
Alexandros chuckled at the young man’s expense. “Relax, Appius! I’m kidding around. But seriously, don’t fall into this trap. She’s one of the only females out here, and don’t go thinking that fear and anxiety and the excitement of adventure are replacements for real affection and love. Besides, she’s not some serving maid from back home to be toyed with, she is a real senatora, whether that is proper or not.”
“Love? Who said anything about love? Right now, I just like the view. Besides, Octavia is a great conversationalist. Did you know that she took over the medical tents back in Sundsvall and. . What is wrong with you? Why are you laughing?”
“Well since you know her as Octavia. . did she happen to take care of your addled brain in those medical tents?”
Constantine frowned at Alexandros, who quickly turned his laughter into a loud, hacking cough. The senatora had reappeared from the band of legionnaires and was approaching.
She bowed slightly to them. “Thank you for your kind words earlier, gentlemen. I have spent enough time here and must be returning to camp before it gets much worse.” She gestured to the falling snow. Flakes dusted her hair, making her seem ethereal.
I wonder what it feels like to be almost the only woman here among all these men, placed both above and below them in social standing? Alexandros wondered. Aloud he said, “Senatora, may I escort you back to camp? I happen to be leaving now as well. Tribune Appius should supervise the end of the funeral ritual.” The tribune flashed him a glare that quickly vanished when Pelia turned to give her condolences again.
As they left the ceremony, they chatted about their individual experiences on the campaign. Alexandros was surprised to learn about the conditions in the legion’s medical facilities. He had always assumed that they would be more up to date. Pelia was fast becoming an outspoken proponent of better medical facilities and better treatment for the injured, as well as better training for the doctors and surgeons that worked in the army’s medical corps. And the tribune was right, she really does seem to have a knack for this stuff.
“You’ve made even me want to vote for you,” he told her, making her blush.
“Const-er. . Tribune Appius said something similar, although he said I should run for the Senate leadership council. He offered the backing of the Emperor.” She gave a low laugh.