Artorius dismounted his horse just outside the camp hospital that sat on the outskirts of Durovernum Cantiacorum. Though still consisting mostly of tents, the foundations, as well as sewage and water channels, had been laid in preparation for a more permanent hospital complex. The proximity to the River Stour allowed for rapid transport of logistical shipments, to include much-needed supplies for the growing hospital. Part of the massive preparations, that had taken two years to accomplish, involved staging stockpiles of equipment at depots along the northern coast of Gaul and Belgica. These were now being ferried across the channel as quickly as the turbulent seas would allow.
As the master centurion walked through the camp, his heart broke at the sight of wounded and maimed legionaries who had somehow survived their fearful injuries. Some were missing limbs; others bore fearful scars, while even more were emaciated by the effects of disease and various illnesses. Those who had succumbed to their afflictions were hastily taken to a clearing outside the camp, where a blackened pyre was erected to send the poor souls to whatever gods there may be.
“Such is the glory of conquest,” Artorius muttered darkly. He then reminded himself that as tragic as their losses were, they could have been much worse. The two most significant battles they had fought had been decisive and overwhelmingly one-sided in terms of casualties.
As Artorius continued his walk, he smiled for the first time since his arrival upon spotting Magnus standing near the riverbank with a handful of other convalescing soldiers. The Nordic centurion had lost a tremendous amount of weight and was still very pale, but at least he was now moving about, albeit with the use of a walking stick.
“Still among the living,” Artorius said as he strolled through the ankle-high grass that lined the bank.
“Odin has no use for me, since I couldn’t get myself killed properly in battle,” Magnus replied with a tired laugh. He continued to stare out onto the water for a few moments before turning to face his friend. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I feel some days that I’m never going to heal and regain my former strength.”
“Still, you’re much better than when I left you,” Artorius retorted. “You were bleeding out, and I had to leave you here, not knowing whether you or any of the other lads would live or die.”
“After all these years in the ranks, they had to get me sooner or later,” the Norseman mused. “Pity for them that they couldn’t finish me properly.” There was just a trace of the old defiance in the Norseman that Artorius found reassuring.
The two started to walk along the edge of the river; Magnus stating that it was good for him to keep his legs limber.
“I’ll be returning to Rome soon,” Artorius said after a minute’s silence.
“Will you be coming back after the Triumph?” Magnus asked, suspecting his friend’s answer. “Or was this the last campaign of Master Centurion Titus Artorius Justus?”
“I’ve had enough,” Artorius replied bluntly. He felt uneasy about the Norseman’s perpetually dark demeanor, and he knew it came not just from his painfully slow recovery. “And I am sorry about Achillia.”
His words stopped Magnus in his tracks, and the Norseman looked down momentarily and took a deep breath.
“I know you loved her,” Artorius added.
“She is the only woman I have ever loved,” Magnus remarked before looking up once more. As he met Artorius’ gaze, his eyes were wet with tears, despite it being five months since her death. “Did you know she was with child?”
“No,” Artorius replied, his eyes growing wide in sad realization. “I am doubly sorry, old friend. I grieve with you.”
“She wasn’t far along,” Magnus noted. “In fact, she had only confirmed it about a week before we made the assault on Mai Dun. I begged her not to risk taking part in the attack, yet she assured me that her condition was not so far along that it would be an encumbrance.”
“There was no denying her bravery,” Artorius observed. “No doubt the actions of her skirmishers saved the lives of a number of our men. She earned her place in Elysium.”
Magnus continued, “She wasn’t even a soldier, yet she was still bound by duty, just as we were. It’s been five, almost six months; one would think I’d be able to put it behind me.”
“We never do,” Artorius stated bluntly, “at least not completely. Those I have loved and lost will always be with me, as Achillia will remain with you. But moving on does not mean you disrespect her memory.”
“I confess I’ve envied you for many years,” Magnus said, his words startling Artorius. He was quick to explain. “You’re my best friend, and I’ve always wished for you nothing but happiness in life. I see what you have with Diana, and I wanted that. After I became a centurion, I was eligible to marry and should have found a viable wife to bear me sons; but I wanted more than just a breeding partner. I wanted that same bond you share with Diana. Roman society says that I’m a fool, and they’re probably right. After all, one simply does not marry for love.”
There was a deep sense of bitterness in Magnus’ demeanor, and Artorius surmised it was compounded by his wounds that were taking far too long to heal. He made mention of this to his friend.
“Well, I’m not exactly the lad of seventeen that I was when we joined the ranks,” the Norseman said with a sardonic chuckle. “I keep telling myself I’m not an old man, but the body does not heal like it once did. Still, I am making progress, albeit far more slowly than I can stand most days. The doctors don’t know if I’ll ever be fully fit to fight again; hell, most of them said I should have died of my wounds already so they’re left perplexed as it is!”
“It is a strange paradox in that the legions keep us young in many ways, while at the same time aging us in others,” Artorius observed, thankful for the change of subject. “They keep us fit, well-fed, and even the lowest rankers are able to make a viable living on their wages.”
“Provided they don’t blow it all on getting shit-housed while fucking every whore in the province,” Magnus noted. “Which many of them do.”
“Well, of course I can only speak for myself,” Artorius persisted. “I am forty-six, yet some tell me I scarcely look a day over thirty. I still have all my hair with nary a trace of grey. And yet, while my face may be mostly devoid of wrinkles, it has its share of scars.”
“Which Roman society frowns upon,” Magnus added. He then shook his head. “Rome expected us to fight her battles, keep the frontiers safe, and even conquer new lands. We did all of that, and now what? You and I are the fortunate ones, but what about the lads in the ranks, especially the more gravely wounded who can no longer continue to serve with the legions?”
“They are discarded like a broken piece of equipment that is no longer needed,” Artorius said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I have served Rome all these years without question, yet I will not shy away from the dark side of the legions and pretend it does not exist. I am still haunted by the beggar I saw on the streets of Ostia who had served with us at Braduhenna. How many others end up like him? Crippled in battle, in service of the empire, yet unable to find work due to their injuries? Once we’re no longer of use to spill our enemies’ blood, we simply don’t matter anymore.”
There was a rather uncomfortable silence between the two for a few minutes. This was not the conversation he was hoping to have with his closest friend of the past three decades, but then what did he expect? He was quietly grateful when Magnus addressed this.
“I am sorry that we must speak of such bitter things,” the Norseman said slowly. “With your pending return to Rome and my remaining in Britannia for the foreseeable future, this could very well be the last time we ever see each other.”
His words bit deep into Artorius, though he was compelled to admit the possibility. It created a paradox of feelings within him; the relief and joy at leaving the army and seeing his wife again, contrasting with the loss of his friends and the possibility of saying goodbye forever to the one who had been closest to him and carried him through so much over the years.