“Your father’s?” Lucius said, motioning to the ornament.
“You remember, Lucius?" Vitalis smiled. He removed the ring from his finger and then turned it over in his palm as if he were studying it for the first time. “It is indeed my father's ring. It is the only thing I have of his. I wear it whenever I need to think, and I have been thinking this night.”
Several moments of silence passed between them before Vitalis spoke again.
“How long have we known each other, Lucius?”
“Five, six years perhaps. Since Nova Carthago, when I was recruited into the Seventh, and you reenlisted.”
“It seems so long ago, “Vitalis said distantly. “We have marched many thousands of miles together, you and I.”
“Too many.”
“And while I have risen in station, you have remained in the ranks,” Vitalis said it in more of a chiding manner than a condescending one. “Not that it was never offered to you.”
“I desire to be a soldier, nothing more. You know that.”
Vitalis smiled. “Ah, yes, you’ve told me many times. A villa by the sea, a warm woman with soft hips, and a comfortable retirement. What more could a man wish for? But, come now, my friend. Though you have never told me of such, I know that you are a man of some education. You speak like a tribune, and you are wiser than most. Perhaps you are even wiser than me. Come now, Lucius, such simple pursuits cannot have been your sole reason for joining the legions.”
They were not, but Lucius had no intention of telling Vitalis, or anyone else, his true reasons for joining all those years ago.
"There was no other reason, sir," Lucius replied simply.
“Please, Lucius,” Vitalis said with some measure of endearment. “We were mere comrades once. I am Vitalis. Let us be mere comrades again, or at least for a few moments.”
The centurion extended the cup to him. Lucius smiled and took it. He took a long steady sip of the wine. It was rancid, but it was the first strong drink he had had in weeks and his body welcomed it.
A mule stirred angrily somewhere outside, and there were shouts in the night as men struggled to bring the unruly animal under control.
“Tribune Piso has it out for you," Vitalis said after the noise had subsided. "You know this, do you not?"
Lucius nodded, a bit surprised by the question.
“Something about your refusal to kill those Belgae in the village yesterday.”
“You were not there,” Lucius said, looking into his cup. “I don’t know what you heard, but I saved the tribune’s life.”
“Yes, I did hear that, and also that you refused to kill the chieftain’s family.”
Lucius took a long drink and said nothing.
“It will not do, Lucius. Come, now, you must help me." Vitalis took another sip of the wine, as if he required it to maintain his callousness. “It is a habit I could never break you of, Lucius. You have managed to retain it over the years. In battle, you are like a rabid wolf, but when it comes time to do the dirty work of soldiery, you always go soft.”
“I will kill every sword-wielding barbarian you put before me,” Lucius said succinctly. “I will kill those of sword bearing age. But I will not kill children of any race.”
“And women? What of them?”
Lucius shook his head.
“You see. Soft, just as I said.” Vitalis grinned at the jest, but then became serious. “You know I have been putting my neck out to protect that fancy of yours. You put me at risk, you know. Our hot-headed tribune thinks I should have you flogged.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“You know good and well why, you mule’s ass. You are the best man in the cohort, if not the entire legion. The others look up to you. They take courage from you. If I flog you, I am not flogging a single man, I’m flogging the century. To put it simply, you win battles for us, Lucius. I cannot afford to lose you to something as petty as a flogging. Impaled on a Gaul’s sword after you’ve slain two score by your own hand would be acceptable.” Vitalis smiled. “But not a flogging.”
“I am glad to see that winning that centurion’s plume did not remove all of your senses.”
“Still, I would watch my step, were I you, Lucius. Piso knows we are old comrades. He knows I won’t do anything to you, so he might try to take matters into his own hands. Be wary.”
“Is that why you wanted to talk?”
“No, actually,” Vitalis’s face became grave again, and he stared back into his cup. “Lucius, in all the time we’ve known each other, have you ever known me to bother about superstitions or magic?”
“Not that I ever witnessed.”
“I’ve seen many things in my days, Lucius. In all of my campaigns, going back even before we were recruited into this legion, when I was a common soldier with Pompey in the East, I have witnessed things,” he paused, “no, horrors – horrors, that cannot be conveyed to the civilized men back in Rome and the great cities. They would not comprehend it. I must admit, I have seen some things I myself could not grasp, things I could never explain. You have been a soldier long enough. You know of what I speak, do you not?”
Lucius nodded, though he had never given it much thought.
“There are spirits that dwell among the primitive races that toy with them, antagonize them, even torment them. These spirits stay clear of the cities of civilized men, or if they go there they are ignored. But out here, among the trees, the river, the hills, the very earth that seems to watch you with one all-seeing eye – out here, these spirits thrive.”
He looked off again as if deep in thought, and then a small smile appeared on his lips. “Did I ever tell you I was with Pompey when he took Jerusalem?”
Lucius shook his head.
“It was a marvelous city – marvelous and terrible all at once. I was with the Fourth then. We had marched down from Armenia to intervene in Judea, where the various factions were all beset with infighting. Pompey sided with the strongest and ended up subjugating the whole country. Remarkable man, that Pompey. Anyway, it was on the last day of the assault. My cohort took the Jews’ temple and lost quite a few legionaries doing it. After we had killed the last defender, and were finally in possession of the place, Pompey suddenly appears, bedecked in his black cuirass and flowing red cloak. He was a sight to see, I tell you. Of course, we all cheered. He came up the temple steps, and stopped several times for us to remove the Jew corpses in his path, but then he continued on, and we cheered some more. He could do no wrong for us, you know. Any one of us would have gotten down and kissed the stone bricks he walked on, if he asked us to.
“Well, we had all heard about this sacred place in the heart of the Jewish temple, a holy place where they went to commune with their God. Only the high priests could go inside, and then only on certain days of the year. Amongst the legions, it was rumored that that story was a whole lot of mule dung, and the real reason no one was allowed to go inside was because that’s where they hid the gold of their fabled King…oh, what was it now… Solodrake, or Solomon, or something like that. I can’t remember. Well, Pompey, of course, had heard this rumor, too, and he was set and determined to prove it false. So, he marches right up to the door of the temple and demands to be let in. One of the old Jewish priests shows up, in his white robes and headdress, and stands in Pompey’s way, telling him that he can’t enter because it will be an affront to their God. Old Pompey wasn’t one to be told no. He orders the priest to stand aside, and when the priest doesn’t, Pompey orders him run through. A half-dozen of us leapt to do it – our blood was up after so many of our mates fell taking that place. I wanted to do it, but another got there before me and put his sword through the old priest’s belly. Pompey stepped over the old bugger and walked on.”
Lucius stared at the floor as he listened, pretending to be interested in what Vitalis was saying. “So, what was in the room?”