At one point I heard a man gasp as the orderlies carried a body out, then heard him mutter, “Well, that makes our tent roomier. Poor bastard.”
Finally, I was seen and my wound cleaned, albeit a bit roughly for my taste, except I was determined not to give the orderly a hint of the pain I was feeling as he pulled the tunic from the wound, starting a fresh bout of bleeding. Once cleaned, my wound was stitched up, the orderly obviously proud of his handiwork, but I was an indifferent audience. Just as I was leaving the tent I heard someone call my name and I looked at the rows of men lying on cots who had been treated, finally seeing someone wave to me. Walking over, once I recognized him I smiled in genuine pleasure at the figure of Vellusius, lying on a cot with a grin equally as broad.
“Vellusius, I thought we had lost you, old son.”
He gestured to the bandage that was awkwardly wrapped around his right shoulder and across his chest diagonally. I noticed that his arm was immobilized as well, and he explained. “I got hit by one of those cursed missiles, right on my collarbone,” he grimaced even as he said this. “It broke it, but it also slowed the damn thing down so it just lodged in my shoulder.”
“Did they get it out?”
He nodded, making a face. “And that hurt like Dis I can tell you, but I’m feeling all right now. They gave me some wine and some sort of herb mixed in that tasted like the butt end of a mule, but I’m feeling pretty good right now. Wait, I said that already.”
He laughed, and I could not help but join in, partly out of relief at seeing him alive, yet also because of the woozy smile he was giving me. Turning serious, I asked him, “What about your wound? It’s not going to put you on disability is it?”
He shook his head.“No, they said I should be good as new in a few weeks, as soon as the bone knits.”
Vellusius smiled the smile of a man who has beaten the system, even if it is temporary.
“You know that that means, right Pullus? No digging, no guard duty, no marching about.” He smacked his lips. “Yes, I could definitely get used to that.”
I laughed again, and bade him goodnight, promising to tell the others the good news.
“Be sure you tell those thieving bastards to stay out of my stuff. Especially Didius,” he called to my retreating back, which I acknowledged with a wave.
Making my way back to the tent, I stopped just long enough to get some porridge dished up from the section pot, then went to the baths to get clean, taking a fresh tunic and loincloth. Despite feeling clean physically afterwards, in some ways I still felt dirty, in a manner that is hard to define. By the time I returned, I was completely exhausted and thankful that we had been given the next two days off from normal duties. The fires from the town still cast a glow that gave the camp an orange pall, which would be intensified shortly when our dead were cremated. I was curious about whether we would be required to attend the funerary rites since it appeared that Didius was dead, given that I had not seen him at the aid tent. I also wondered if the fact that I would not grieve meant that I was a bad person. Getting back to the tent, the others were gathered around, with a pile of loot that was being divided out evenly.
“Pullus,” my comrades cried out.
Smiling, I took my normal place next to Vibius, where we exchanged a long look at each other, not saying a word yet communicating our mutual relief that we were both alive. I told them that I had seen Vellusius, which was greeted by cheers all around and they all laughed when I passed on his last message, except I left out the part about Didius, thinking him dead. Calienus was in charge of dividing up the spoils, such as they were, there being just a small pile of coin. However, most of the valuables were in the form of jewelry of one sort of another, and there was some bickering about the value that Calienus assigned each piece as he distributed it out. I saw the pile for Vellusius, which was going to be watched by his newly designated mate Scribonius. Scribonius had originally been the close comrade of Artorius, but to both Vellusius and Scribonius’ relief, Artorius’ dismissal from the Legion meant that Scribonius needed a new one, and Vellusius was originally forced to partner with Didius. Immediately after Artorius left, Scribonius and Vellusius approached our Sergeant, who was as aware as all of us the loathing in which we held Didius and vice versa. Didius did not take the rejection well, making his usual dire threats to Vellusius, which so far were unfulfilled. Thinking of that event, it in turn led me to the fate of Didius, and I was unsure how to broach the subject. While the rest of my tentmates knew how I felt about him, I still did not want to make my feelings for him too obvious, especially if he were dead. I noticed that there was a pile for him as well as Vellusius, except that did not necessarily mean anything. It is the custom that in the event of death, the spoils taken would be sent to the slain man's family, if he had one, or put into the funeral fund that is kept to pay for the proper sacrifices and rituals that are observed when a Roman Legionary dies, along with paying for an appropriate monument.
Finally, my curiosity could not be quelled any longer, so I cleared my throat then asked, “So, what about Didius?”
I was not sure what reaction I expected, but it was certainly not the one I got. Nobody said anything; instead there was a silence where the prevailing attitude, if I am any judge of facial expressions, was one of disgust.
“I’m in here. Why Pullus, did you miss me?”
Though muffled, it was still clearly the voice of Spurius Didius, who apparently was in our tent. This puzzled me, but when I looked to the others for the story they steadfastly refused to speak, in turn looking at Calienus, who tried to ignore them. Finally sighing in exasperation, he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage, “Didius was injured on the way down the ladder. He took a serious fall.”
This news was followed by what sounded like a cough, and I glanced over to see Remus staring at the ground with what I thought was a grimace, except that his cough seemed to ignite a fit of sounds. Finally he could not contain himself any longer and began openly laughing, which as it tends to do, started a conflagration of the same behavior, soon becoming a riot of guffawing hilarity that I was swept up in despite having no idea why.