“What did she say?” Lucius asked again.
Vitalis put a hand to his face, as if he was having trouble saying the words. “She told me to take the ring from her hand when she died, and keep it with my father’s.” Vitalis looked at the ring on his finger through watered eyes. “I don’t know what I did after that, Lucius. I seem to remember seeing something on her finger that very much looked like my mother’s ring. But I was too far gone to look any further. I believe I ran away, and the next thing I know, I’m standing before Piso, feeling as though I had been to the underworld and back. I honestly don’t know what happened.”
Lucius looked at him uncertainly. “Then, you told all of this to the tribune?”
Vitalis nodded. “Part of it.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He said that he would discuss my irrational behavior with the legate when we rejoined the legion.”
“Perhaps you are suffering from an ailment, my friend?” Lucius said carefully. “Perhaps a trip to the infirmary would – ”
“And let Piso take my century from me after the physician declares me mad as Dionysius? I would rather die first, Lucius! I will not face such dishonor. You will promise to run me through before that happens! Do you understand me?”
Half-expecting such a response, Lucius threw up his hands and sighed. “Then there is nothing left for us to do but go back to that woman’s corpse and examine the ring on her hand. If the ring is there, as you say, then you are not mad. Some trick of the fates has placed your mother in the land of the Belgae and then placed you in a circumstance to slay her. If that is the case, you are not to blame. A man cannot defy the fates.” Lucius paused. “But if we search the woman’s body and do not find the ring…”
“I know,” Vitalis said considering. “One outcome is as bad as the other, but it must be done.” He looked at Lucius. “I could never go back there, Lucius. I cannot go. I will not go. You must do it.”
“Now?”
“This instant!” he said. “Before the wolves carry her off. My mother’s ring is the duplicate of my father’s. If you recover it, then I can prove to the tribune that I am not mad.”
Lucius nodded, though he had little hopes for a successful outcome. He was certain that Vitalis was suffering from a blow to the head, but he could not turn his back on him.
“I suppose I can do it,” Lucius finally replied. “But it will require a pass from the tribune to go outside the walls.”
“I will get it,” Vitalis said furtively, standing and buckling on his sword belt. “That bastard must allow me to prove my sanity. Meet me by the decumanus gate in one hour. Arm yourself well, my friend. If this was not such a sensitive matter, I would consider letting you take Jovinus and some of the others with you. But then the whole cohort would be calling me mad by sunup.”
Lucius nodded, but wondered if that might not indeed be the case. He rose to leave, but Vitalis stopped him before he reached the tent door.
“Lucius. My gratitude to you, my friend.”
III
It was well after midnight, when the south gate closed behind Lucius and the perfect order of the torch-lit camp was replaced by the dark, untamed world before him. The surrounding forest was indiscernible, merely a deeper shade of blackness against the star-filled sky. Packs of wolves howled in the distance, their song filtering through the trees like that of the sirens of Odysseus.
It had taken much longer than anticipated to get the tribune’s approval. Lucius had waited at the gate for nearly two hours before a very distraught Vitalis showed up with pass in hand, his mood indicative of the ordeal he had undergone to obtain it. Even with the pass, the sentries had only reluctantly opened the gate to let Lucius into the black world beyond.
The pool and field, where the century had unwound hours before, was now a sea of darkness that merged with the black of the surrounding tree line. In the distance, the auxiliary camp was lit by several bonfires. The song and laughter of the Aedui floated across the dark field. Over there, the spirits were flowing freely, in sharp contrast to the silent discipline of the Roman camp.
Lucius did not expect it would take long to find the woman’s body. His only fear was that it might have been disturbed or rifled. The wolves were up, but still far away. He needed to get to the body first.
He groped his way around the field, finding the edge of the pond quite unexpectedly by dousing a foot in the muddy shallows. He remembered the general vicinity well enough and felt sure that he could find his way there, but as he knew from a dozen campaigns in Gaul, the forest could play tricks on the mind. A spot viewed from one angle never looked the same from another. The trees had a way of throwing off all estimates of distance and depth.
He approached the tree line, and felt the dark void within, as if the trees were beckoning him to come inside. Certainly, there could be Belgae there watching the Roman camp, perhaps even watching him at this very moment.
After cautiously approaching the area where he guessed the woman had fallen, he began to move outward in a widening spiral, the long cool grass brushing the exposed skin between his bootstraps. The first attempt turned up nothing. So, he displaced the center of his search several paces, and then searched again in the same manner. He did this several more times, before concluding that the woman’s body was no longer there. It was possible the wolves had already dragged it off, but he could not hear any of the baying or crying often heard from feeding wolves competing for a position around a bleeding carcass. The wolf song that now haunted the night sounded very alone, very sad, and very far away.
As he stepped into the deeper blackness past the perimeter of trees, he heard something else – something far off, and definitely not of wolf origin. It sounded like the chant of a human, man or woman it was hard to tell. The distant revelry of the auxiliary camp made it even more difficult to discern, but it almost sounded like wailing. Whoever made the sound was far away. Then he noticed a dim light deep within the forest, more of a glow than anything. He moved to the right and left several times but could not find any spot that would line up a direct path through the abundant tree trunks to expose the light’s source. Whatever its source, the harrowing wail seemed to come from that direction. For a few hesitant moments, Lucius considered investigating, but then thought better of it. A few more steps into the black wood and he might have trouble finding his way back to the camp. He could continue his search for the hag’s body in the morning, and probably have better luck.
Having made up his mind to return to camp, Lucius turned around, but then stopped dead in his tracks. A twig had snapped to his left, only a few paces away. He held his breath. There was no doubt something was there. The foul aroma of body odor hung in the air and told him the intruder was not a mere forest rodent. Gripping the hilt of his gladius, Lucius held the short sword as still as possible, that its polished blade might not catch a peek of moonlight. The weapon had been in his hand from the moment he had set foot outside the camp. He had left his bulky shield behind in the camp, but he had brought other things. The pugio dagger, sheathed at his belt, could be in his hand in less than a heartbeat, and he fully intended to reach for it, once the stranger made another move. The other certainly knew of his presence, or more likely had been watching him for quite some time. It was now a waiting game to see who would flinch first.
“It is not wise to tread this far outside of the camp at night, Roman,” a man’s voice said from the blackness. The voice had a strong accent that could stem from any one of several different languages spoken in these parts. Regardless, the man obviously spoke Latin fluently.