I shook my head. “You’re helpless. And an asshole. We need to find you a woman when we get back to Rome.”
“We’d better!” He exclaimed with a shake of his head. “A man can only go so long before going crazy. I don’t know how you’ve done it since the nurse.”
I frowned. It was still a bad memory.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to reopen old wounds.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assured.
Santino turned and leaned against the railing to face the wilderness. “It’s hard not to.”
I moved to stand against the railing as well, but leaned so that I could face my friend. “Why do you say that?”
He smacked the railing. “Jacob, you have a wonderful and beautiful woman sitting in your tent every night! And then the two of you prance about the camp all day like you hardly know each other, but we can all see it.” He paused. “We can see a lot of things.”
“We’re just friends, John.”
He huffed. “You’re wasting your time if you ask me.”
“Well no one asked you.”
He snapped his head around and stared at me intently. “You shouldn’t have to. Guys like us don’t find a girl like her every day, and you’ve meet two that I know of, and you fucked up the first one. All I’m saying is that you’d better not let it happen again.”
I turned away from my friend and looked out over our wall, past the ditch and wooden stakes, and into the clearing, the tree line far off in the distance. He was right. I’d never find another one like her. I didn’t know why, but somehow that thought didn’t comfort me.
***
Days later, I leaned up off my bedroll after a sleepless night, resting my arms on my knees, and hanging my head between them. I felt horrible, and I had no idea why, but I suspected it had something to do with that beef patty MRE I had for dinner last night. Lifting my head, and rubbing my hand over my face and through my hair, which was getting much longer than I’d ever grown it, I looked over at the empty spot where Helena normally slept.
I sighed. Maybe I was just getting lonely since I never seemed to see her these days.
“Ah, get up, Jacob,” I said to no one in particular. “Today’s too big a day for this shit.”
I got to my feet and pulled off my shirt and looked around for a fresh one. Once I found one I thought was mostly clean, I snatched up my web belt, which held my tactical thigh holster holding my pistol and a few extra mags, and strapped it around my waist. My morning ritual completed, I unzipped the tent, stepped out into the frigid weather, and headed towards a trough of water. Normally used as the legion’s horses’ drinking water, I dunked my head as deep as I could into the freezing liquid, a scene I’d seen a dozen times in Wild West movies. Whipping my head out of the icy cold bath just as quickly as I had dunked it, I sent a stream of water flying behind me, splashing an unknowing Bordeaux as he walked towards his tent.
I stood and dried myself off as best I could, before I turned to see Bordeaux still standing there, a wet scowl on his face.
“Oh, sorry, Jeanne. Didn’t see you there.”
He walked up to me angrily, and snatched my dry shirt from my shoulder to dry his face with. In turn, he shoved a loaf of Roman bread into my hand, fresh off the fire. It was tough and chewy, thanks to the gluten rich wheat they used, but it offered enough sustenance to be the backbone of a legionnaire’s diet, which was good enough for me.
“You all right, Jacob?” He asked with a mouthful of bread. “Today’s a big day.”
“I’m fine,” I said, taking a bite of my own and mumbling around the food, “jus dinnt sweep swell.”
He looked at me pathetically. “Well, get yourself cleaned up. We’re expected in Galba’s tent in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I finished after gulping down my meal.
With that, I turned and headed back to my tent. I found the zipper and gave it a pull, only to find it stuck and refusing to budge. Gripping it with both hands, I tugged harder, only to have it stubbornly remain jammed. I started yanking furiously on the zipper. Never a morning person, my annoyance quickly turned to rage, and I couldn’t stop myself from kicking the tent, unplanting one of the stakes in my tirade. Wang, emerging from his own tent, noticed my predicament, and came over to help, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.
“Here, Hunter. Let me try.”
I conceded the zipper, throwing my hands up in frustration, and backed away.
Wang gripped the zipper lightly, gave it a yank to further close it before sending it on its way to open the flap, which it did easily.
He turned to look at me, taking a sip from the steaming mug. “You all right, Jacob? Today’s…”
“…a big day. Right. I got it.” I tried to breathe through my nose, hold it, and exhale through my mouth, an old Zen calming technique. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you in the praetorium.”
He pulled his cup from his mouth to speak, but just as quickly replaced it to take another sip. The look on his face indicated he wanted to say more, but he knew how I was in the mornings. Shrugging, he turned towards the praetorium without another word.
Entering my tent, I threw off my web belt in anger, and tried to find a shirt to wear.
Could this day get any worse?
Finding a shirt that I assumed was clean, I slipped it on, replaced my web belt, and retrieved a fleece jacket I had found in our supplies. It was festooned with pockets, and could be worn in freezing temperatures, as well as in moderately cool days. It was even colored in olive drab. My favorite color, a good choice for any military man. Good camouflage.
As I left my tent, I closed the zipper with excessive carefulness, hoping to avoid any further complications. Checking my watch, I realized I only had a minute before I was late. Luckily, the praetorium was only a twenty step jog away. When I entered I was annoyingly rewarded with the fact I was the last to arrive.
My always punctual mother would have been disappointed.
At the center of the tent were two large tables, with two large maps displayed on top. The first was a rudimentary topographical map of the Italian peninsula, and rudimentary was putting it nicely. The map was a far cry from the satellite imagery we used in our own time, but it would do. The map was only mostly identifiable, with the general shape of the country present, along with Sicily, Corsica, Sardinia, and plenty of landmarks, rivers, mountain ranges, and cities, most of which were close enough to where they were supposed to be.
The second map was a simple diagram of the city of Rome. It wasn’t as detailed as the one I had framed and hanging on my wall back home, a diagram I’d hoped to use in my classroom once upon a time, but even so, it showed the city’s largest buildings, walls, and gates accurately.
Arrayed around the tables were the usual suspects. Caligula, Galba, his primus pilus Maximus Nisus, Quintilius, Gaius, Marcus, Varus, three of the legion’s tribunes, and a few slaves and freedmen administrators
Santino and Wang stood next to each other, mugs of steaming liquid in their hands, probably debating their preferences for either coffee or tea again. By yet another grace of God, MREs included ground coffee, and we also found tea bags in the cargo as well. Teas weren’t new in Rome, but coffee beans were indigenous to the Americas, resulting in some very jealous Romans. Centurion Nisus, in fact, had grown addicted to the stuff after his first taste, enamored by its caffeine content like so many college students. He and I had worked out a deal that sent my MRE coffee bean packages his way, for a portion of his salted pork rations. I had to side with the Brits on this one, as I never really enjoyed coffee, and the idea of fire roasted bacon made me very happy.
Bordeaux and Vincent were next to the two debaters, while Helena stood around the corner, quietly chatting with Varus. She’d struck up a friendship with him just as I had, and had learned that the scholar was in fact married and expecting his first child. When she told me the news, I immediately wondered if that child was another link in the possible genetic chain that connected the two of us.