“Yes…I am a survivor of Teutoburger Wald,” he replied, eyes boring into Apronius.
“I am sorry to have brought up such a painful memory,” the Legate replied, eyes on the table and unable to meet Calvinus’ gaze. “We almost suffered the same fate in Frisia.”
“The Fourth Cohort did,” Calvinus retorted. “And when I saw Proculus and Macro fall, not knowing whether they were alive or dead, and the Chief Tribune covered in his own guts and begging for death to come, I felt as if I had returned to Teutoburger. I swear I felt like I was there once more! At that time, only three men from my Century survived including me. And when I regained my senses I saw the entire Twentieth Legion sharing the same fate…”
“But we didn’t!” Apronius countered. “The Fifth Legion repaired their bridge and flanked the Frisians, to say nothing of Tribune Cursor and his ten thousand.”
Calvinus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then fixed his eyes on his commander, and Apronius knew his resolve was unshakable.
“Forgive me, sir,” Calvinus said slowly. “I know my timing is horrid, but in all honestly, I just cannot see the faces of the broken and lost anymore. The gods have spared me twice, and now I think it is time for me to leave. I won’t go immediately; I will stay on for a couple more months. That should be enough time for us to get the Legion back on the path to recovery, as well as find a suitable replacement.”
Apronius stood and extended his hand. Calvinus was surprised at first, but then clasped Apronius’ forearm in his firm grasp.
“Calvinus, you have been all that one could ever want in a Master Centurion. Give Rome three more months and I will accept your request for retirement.”
Chapter XXV: A Goddess to Her Soldiers
Proculus’ injuries had been extensive, and he had yet to regain consciousness after swooning when the doctors had performed surgery on his stubborn wounds that had failed to heal, even after being back for a month. As Diana left her cousin’s house, she thought about the countless others who had come back wounded, some badly maimed. As a Centurion Primus Ordo, Proculus was one of the lucky ones. He could afford his own surgeons and was able to be cared for within his own house. The average legionary languished in the fortress hospital, which given the huge number of casualties suffered during the campaign, was overflowing. Since the fortress housed two legions, its hospital had twice the space, as well as doctors and medics. Unlike the Twentieth, the First Legion had only engaged during the Siege of Flevum and had suffered few losses. Be that as it may, no army facility was equipped to handle the more than five thousand wounded legionaries and auxiliaries that were crammed into every possible space, as well as many forced to suffer outside under temporary shelters, subject to the elements.
For reasons she could not comprehend, Diana felt compelled to visit these men. While her cousin had wished to protect his wife from seeing the horrors of war’s aftermath, at least he had a wife! Some of the legionaries had common-law ‘wives’ or significant others, though many more had no one. They suffered in silence and were all alone in the world, except for those who lay next to them in agony. Many of these were little more than boys of seventeen or eighteen, who had enlisted in the legions only a few months before.
A horrible stench greeted her as she reached the hospital. Several dozen soldiers, mostly auxiliaries, lay on tattered cloaks or torn blankets on the ground. Though they had fought just as hard and valiantly, legionaries would always take priority over their non-citizen compatriots. It was a type of bias that was simply accepted. The septic smell made Diana gag, though she fought to keep her composure. Proximo had accompanied her and was keeping a respectful distance behind his mistress. A medic was sitting on a wooden crate outside, his head resting in his right hand, while a soiled rag hung from his left.
“My lady,” he said tiredly, unable to stand up. “You know this is no place for you.”
“My husband comes here every day, what do you mean it’s not my place?” she asked sternly.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the medic replied. “It’s just…we are not equipped to handle this many wounded. No one can see what goes on in there and maintain their sanity!”
With a nod of understanding, Diana stepped over an auxiliary, who was holding a filthy rag over his abdomen, which reeked of infection. Her hand came over her mouth as she stared into the darkened hall of despair and pain. The most badly injured soldiers lay on bunks, stacked three high. Others simply curled up on the floor. Their companions had brought them bedding and blankets from their billets, though for the auxiliaries, whose forts were scattered along the Rhine, there was nothing for them but what they brought. Orderlies carried pots for the wounded to urinate or defecate in, seeing as how these men were unable to so much as walk to the latrines that were just two blocks away. Some of the wounded were in such a state of fever and delirium that they had no control over their bodily functions and the room stank of excrement.
Diana crept along the wall and looked into the other room where doctors and medics performed surgery and did the actual treatment of wounds. One poor man was lying on a table, his face clammy and pale, lips already turning blue. Gangrene had spread through his body, like so many of the others who had been badly wounded. He was fighting to stop the violent convulsions that sent shockwaves of pain through is broken body. Another soldier, perhaps the man’s Centurion or Optio, stood over him, clutching his hand. The officer looked at the doctor who, with a look of emotional exhaustion, simply shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the wounded legionary stammered, biting hard as another spasm sent torrents of pain through him.
“No,” the officer replied gently, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Please…please tell me I fought well,” the man pleaded. His eyes showed that he knew his time in this life was coming to an end.
Diana stood in the corner with her arms wrapped around herself, sobbing quietly.
“You fought like a lion!” the officer replied forcefully, bringing a brief smile from the legionary through the convulsions and pain. “It took half a dozen of them to bring you down, and two of those bastards fell by your blade!”
“Y…you’re the only father…I’ve ever had,” the young soldier gasped. “I…I…I wanted to make you proud…” His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his tongue protruding from his mouth as his body thrashed about. His bowels let loose and the pungent odor mixed with the stench of rot that permeated the room.
“Sleep well, son,” the officer whispered into the ear of the now still legionary. He attempted to close the man’s eyes, though there was nothing to be done about the protruding tongue, which was bitten nearly in two. As he stood and took a deep breath, Diana recognized the man as Centurion Dominus, the man who had replaced Vitruvius as the Commander of the Third Cohort. He turned to leave and noticed Diana standing there. His face was ashen, and all he could do was give a short nod. This was the only gesture that showed he saw her, for his eyes were distant and lost.
“One more name to add to our call to the fallen,” he said quietly as he stumbled from the room.
“Can I help you, my lady?” a medic asked, startling Diana, who was staring at the dead legionary that orderlies were carrying towards the back door.
A bucket of water was dumped onto the table and it was quickly wiped off with a bloody rag before a less gravely injured soldier was lifted onto it.
“No,” she replied, trying to compose herself. “It is I who should be helping you. What is it you need?”
“Well, to be honest,” the medic began, not sure if he should speak candidly to her, but he took a deep breath and went on. “To be honest, we are terribly short of clean bandages and rags, as you can plainly see. Not enough hot water either. And those poor auxiliaries, they haven’t got so much as a proper cot, or even a pillow and nice blanket to protect them from the cold. Gods know how many more of them will perish in the freezing night! Nights in Germania, even in summer, are not kind to those who have to sleep out in that; to say nothing of their being weakened already by their wounds!”