It was a warm summer night, the second watch[1] had just started, but nobody was sleeping. Caesar’s legions were severely depleted but no effort was spared in preparation for the upcoming battle; by now, everybody knew it couldn’t be avoided. Centurion Quintus Memmius Torquatus of Legio X Eqvestris, a veteran of the Gallic Wars, was worried. As he walked towards where his men were reinforcing the palisades, he couldn’t stop but think of what he had just been tasked to do. Dangerous, this mission was, yet he would do it, as the men of the tenth never balked or complained, they got the job done, no matter the odds.
Quintus got to his tent to rest for a few moments and think of the best course of action. As he entered, he saw his younger brother, Septimus, had still not finished cleaning the arms and armour.
- Centurion, his brother spoke in a formal tone, I am almost done here. Let me know what my next task is.
- Finish this up and then summon Buteo, Corvus and Malleolus, Quintus replied.
He knew he needed his best men to make a plan that would see the mission carried out successfully. The centurion lay on his makeshift bed and closed his eyes, knowing he had some time before Septimus would find the three men. He was tired, very tired, but couldn’t sleep. None of his men had slept well over the past couple of weeks. Without realising, his mind started recounting all the events that had led him, that had led all of them, here. Four years before they had all been at Gergovia and Alesia, they had been the heroes of the Republic. It was there where his men had named him Torquatus, after singlehandedly defeating three foes, taking their weapons and the famed Gallic torques. He had been present when the mighty Vercingetorix, the chieftain of the Gauls, had surrendered to Caesar. They had all been hailed as heroes but now, who were they now? The civil war had soon started and Roman fought Roman, brother fought brother and nobody knew this better than Quintus.
“Damn my brother and his silly principles”, he thought. “I guess there’s no point in lamenting it now though, what’s done is done”. His brother, the other one, had sided with Pompey. He had always praised the Republic and had spoken against tyrants, but Quintus had never imagined it would come to this. Sextus Memmius Celer, Sextus the quick, had sided with Pompey. It had devastated their parents; their eldest son with Caesar, their second-born with Pompey. “Sextus would be about 25, 26 now”, Quintus thought...”not too young, but too damn stubborn”. He thought of his brother every day. He had been the pride of their father and he probably still was. When Quintus went home on leave he had found his parents’ hearts broken. Their father would barely speak, too burdened by all the events, their mother wouldn’t stop crying, making him promise that the youngest, Septimus, would never leave home. Their mother was already old when she had Septimus, reason why he got the cognomen Cordus. “What could I have done, what could I have said”, the veteran centurion asked himself, knowing full well there was no answer. Septimus had been eager to fight, young fool that he was, that’s why, when Caesar had levied new legions, he was among the first to join. Their parents had pleaded with Quintus to stop him, to do something so they wouldn’t be left alone, but what could he have done? How can a centurion of the mounted tenth, the famous tenth, the most loyal of legions, go to his commanding officer to get his brother back? It had been madness to even think it, let alone do it.
Even so, he did do something to ease their parents’ suffering. He had managed to get his brother transferred into his centuria, which meant he could at least watch over him. In the battle of Dyrrhachium Septimus had been eager to fight, but Quintus had assigned him over to Corvus, who was in charge of the nightly watch. Septimus had been furious, as he had felt his brother had denied him the chance to win glory, to wash the family’s disgrace. Stupid boy! Septimus was a convinced Caesarean follower so naturally he considered his older brother, Sextus, as a traitor to Rome and a stain on their family’s honour. Countless times Quintus had tried to reason with him but without success.
The centurion got up as he heard his men approaching. "Family matters later", he thought, "time for business". He took his scribbled map and put it on the table. One by one, the three men he wanted to talk to walked in, followed by Septimus. In that fraction of a second it took Torquatus to look at the four soldiers he could see the differences: his brother, inexperienced, eager to prove himself; Buteo, “the buzzard”, his Optio, a man so devoted to the legion that was known to treat cowards and traitors worse than an enemy. Buteo was a quiet man; he didn’t need to speak to get others to do their job. In the odd case when he was in charge of the centuria, he would lead by example. The men respected him and feared his anger at the same time. Corvus was the Tesserarius, basically third in command. He had been thus named because in a battle near Alesia, while fighting on the flank, a crow had flown over and attacked an enemy, saving Corvus’ life. The crow had died, but the Tesserarius retrieved it and its feathers now adorned his helmet. Malleolus, the standard bearer of the centuria was a strange man. The son of a blacksmith, he would never go to battle without his trusty hammer. Indeed, Quintus had witnessed Malleolus surrounded by enemies, one hand holding the standard, the other wielding his hammer, all the while shouting “Centurion, I left my sword in the camp, can a recruit bring it to me?”
Quintus loved these men and they loved him back. Together they had been through nine hells and back, they had shared the best times, full of victories and loot, as well as the worst ones, mourning departed friends and brothers.
- Salve, centurion, the three men said in unison.
- Salvete, brothers, he replied. We need to talk. Septimus, you can leave us, he then addressed his brother.
As Septimus left, the centurion spread the map and told the men what they needed to do. He had been tasked with leading a reconnaissance mission against Pompey’s army. After the battle at Dyrrhachium, though defeated and retreating, Caesar’s forces had not been followed by the Republican host. This had been a blessing, as it gave them time to regroup and resupply. Now, the enemy had finally been sighted but the large difference between the two armies had unnerved Caesar’s commanders.
- There’s no doubt that battle is upon us again, Quintus said. This time though, it’s do or die.
- Nothing new, Corvus said. So, what do we do?
- Just before the third watch, a turma will depart to scout. Corvus, you’ll lead the first group, due west, on this side of the river. Malleolus, you’re with the second group, head northwest.
- I assume you’re leading the third one yourself, Buteo asked.
- Indeed. I’ll cross the river to the south and then head towards the mountains. Reports have spotted enemies all over the place and we have to determine where their main camp is, or at least the main force.
- I’ll prepare the horses and gear, Buteo said. Then I’ll make sure everything is ready for battle. When can we expect it to happen?
- I don’t know, two, three days at the most.
- Understood, centurion, they spoke while turning to leave. Salve!
- Be careful, Quintus said. Don’t engage the enemy; scout, spot and come back.
He wanted to rest, he needed to be fresh. He didn’t need to go scouting himself, but he welcomed the opportunity to leave the camp, to ride and clear his mind. There was still enough time to sleep for a couple of hours, but just as he wanted to lay down, someone came in. It was Septimus.
- Centurion, a word, if I may.
- What is it legionnaire, Quintus asked.
- I would like to volunteer for the scouting mission. It is time I did my part.
- You do your part here, where you’re needed. No!
- Centurion, if I may...
- You may not; Quintus cut his younger brother off. I am your officer and you do as I say. Now leave!
Septimus’ face grew redder and redder and tears started appearing at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t move, but instead came one step closer to his brother.
- Brother, you can’t do this. I need to do something, anything, other than clean the swords and tend to the animals.
- Septimus, the centurion said in a brotherly voice, don’t. I know what you want, but you don’t know what you’re asking. I promised our parents, our mother.
- What, what did you promise them? Did you promise that I won’t do anything and that I’ll be the laughingstock of all our friends and neighbours, all the soldiers, for not doing anything?
- I promised them you’ll live.
- How can I live, how? Will I be an old man who remembers his centurion brother, hero of the Gallic wars, decorated soldier, while I did nothing? That’s not a life.
- Brother, Quintus said...
- No, enough of that. I came to fight, that’s why I joined the legions. I will fight, whether you like it or not. Think about that, Septimus said, leaving the tent.
Quintus knew his brother was right. He would fight, there would be no avoiding that. He had tried to shield his brother but he now understood this was a mistake. He had let their mother’s fears rub on him, cloud his mind. Their father had said nothing when Quintus and Septimus had left home; he had just stood there, watching them. Before falling asleep Quintus had decided he would let his brother ride along him. Three, four hours of riding in the countryside will do him good, give him a chance to vent his anger.
***
The patrol had gone well so far, there had been no sign of enemy movement. The men had crossed the river without incident and had even found some grains in the fields beyond it. Quintus had tasked five of them to gather them and take them back to camp. Leading the other four, including Septimus, they rode towards the mountains, as planned. They had reached the edge of a small forest and had decided to rest their horses for a bit, as well as the men. Then they had entered the forest and had ridden a few miles, stopping again just shy of a small clearing. There were people there, soldiers it seemed. The men dismounted and Quintus went on ahead, accompanied by two of his legionaries. Septimus and another had stayed back with the horses. There were two bonfires and a dozen men gathered around them. Romans, they were. They also had two carts, probably grains. There were no guards posted, which allowed Quintus and his men to close the distance unnoticed.
Just as he was about to lead his men back, they heard a thundering roar and could barely move out of the way of the galloping horse. Septimus rode like mad, spear in hand, towards the enemy. Instinct took over and the rest of Quintus’ men followed, swords drawn. “Stupid boy”, centurion Torquatus thought, speeding after them.
Battle quickly followed and although fewer in numbers, the element of surprise had been a decisive factor. Three enemies had fallen without even unsheathing their swords, another had been pierced by Septimus’ spear. The Caesarean soldiers seemed to have the upper hand, battle hardened veterans that they were. A second group of enemies came from behind the carts, five of them, which restored balance to the melee. Quintus hacked furiously around him, looking for his brother. He saw him cutting the throat of an enemy but then, disaster struck. Another enemy popped up behind him, moving faster than others. Septimus tried to turn around and parry the blow, but he was too slow. He looked into Quintus’ eyes just as the enemy thrust his gladius between Septimus’ ribs. He grimaced and fell to the ground, blood gushing out of the wound.
“Brotheeeeeeeeeeer”, Quintus roared. He charged at the enemy. Mars would get his blood sacrifice and the Lares, the family gods, would receive this offering. He sped past two enemies, stabbing one of them with his pugio and slammed right into his brother’s killer. He was heavier than the Pompeian soldier and they both fell to the ground. Gladius in his right hand, pugio in his left, Quintus thrust both weapons into the torso of his prey. The enemy gurgled, blood coming out of his mouth. His face was covered in Septimus’ blood, but his eyes...
His eyes were strangely familiar. Quintus got up and looked at the dying soldier. A thought dawned on him but no, it couldn’t be. Septimus was lying in front of Quintus, the enemy soldier at his feet. He removed his helmet and did the same to the enemy. Dis Manibus, he whispered, what have we done?
By this time, Quintus’ men had been subdued. He alone was alive and now the Pompeian soldiers had surrounded him. They drew closer, slowly, but Quintus didn’t care. He knelt between the two bodies, head held low, and placed one hand on each.
- I am Quintus Memmius Torquatus, centurion of the second centuria, first cohort of Legio X Eqvestris. Here lie my brothers, Sextus Memmius Celer and Septimus Memmius Cordus. I am your prisoner, do what you will.
[1] There were four watches: 1st (18 PM-21 PM), 2nd (21 PM-00 AM), 3rd (00 AM-03 AM), 4th (03 AM-06 AM) |