To Love Again - Bertrice Small [1]
Claudius looked down and sighed deeply. He recognized the head as belonging to one of the personal bodyguards of the Catuvellauni war chief. He had noticed the boy when the Catuvellauni had come to talk peace, even as they were treacherously massing their forces in an attempt to drive the Romans from Britain. The young man had a smallish, but very distinct birthmark upon his left cheekbone. Claudius, physically impaired himself, was quick to notice others with impairments of any kind. He shook his head sadly. He did not like war. So many young lives like this one wasted. Young men fought wars, but it was the old men like himself who planned those wars.
He turned away from the severed head, giving his attention now to the tribune who had shielded him from certain death. “How is he?” the emperor asked the surgeon who was kneeling by the tribune’s side, staunching the copious flow of blood.
“He’ll live,” came the dour reply, “but there will be no more soldiering for this one, Caesar. The javelin, by the grace of the gods, missed the artery to his heart. It has chipped the knee bone, and damaged the tendons. The boy will walk with a marked limp the rest of his days.”
Claudius nodded, and then he asked the injured young man, “What is your name, tribune?”
“Flavius Drusus, Caesar.”
“Are we related, then?” the emperor wondered aloud, for he was Claudius Drusus Nero.
“Distantly, Caesar.”
“Who is your father?”
“Titus Drusus, Caesar, and my brother is also Titus.”
“Yes,” the emperor said thoughtfully. “Your father is in the senate. He is a just man, as I recall.”
“He is, Caesar.”
“You are the Tribunus Laticlavius of the Fourteenth,” the emperor said, noting the young man’s uniform. “You will have to go home now, I fear, Flavius Drusus.”
“Yes, Caesar,” came the dutiful answer, but Claudius heard more than just disappointment in the young man’s voice.
“You do not want to go home?” he asked. “Is there no young sweetheart or wife eagerly awaiting your return, then? How long have you been with the Fourteenth, Flavius Drusus?”
“Almost three years, Caesar. I had hoped to make a career in the army. I am the youngest son of Titus Drusus. There are three older than I am. My eldest brother will follow in our father’s footsteps, of course; and Gaius and Lucius are both magistrates. Another magistrate from the Drusus family, and we could easily be accused of a monopoly,” Flavius Drusus finished with a small smile. Then he winced, and grew pale as the javelin was drawn from his leg.
Claudius almost groaned in sympathy with the young man’s obvious pain. Although the titular second-in-command of his legion, a Tribunus Laticlavius was really an honorary post. There were six tribunes in each legion, and five of them were usually battle-hardened veterans. The Tribunus Laticlavius was always a youngster in his teens from a noble family, sent to spend two or three years with the army to shape him up, or get him out of trouble, or away from bad companions. Usually at the end of his term the Tribunus Laticlavius went home to a magistrate’s position, and a rich wife.
The emperor turned to the legionary commander. “Is he a good soldier, Aulus Majesta?”
The legionary commander nodded. “The best, Caesar. He came to us like they all do—green, and wet behind the ears—but unlike the others I’ve had to put up with in my career, Flavius Drusus has been eager to learn. He was to stay on until one of my other tribunes retired in another year. Then I planned to move him up in the ranks.” He looked down at the young man, pale with his injury. “What a pity, Caesar. He’s a good officer, but I can’t have a tribune with a gimpy leg, now can I.” It wasn’t a question.
Claudius was tempted to ask Aulus Majesta what a man’s gait had to do with his ability to make good military decisions, but he refrained from it. His own limp, and stammering speech, had made him a laughingstock his whole life. He had been considered unfit for anything, even by his own family. But when his dreadful nephew, Caligula, had been murdered and deposed, the army had turned to him