Warrior of Rome: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The First Emperor Series Book 2) by Terry Cloutier

Warrior of Rome: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The First Emperor Series Book 2) by Terry Cloutier

Author:Terry Cloutier [Cloutier, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ganderland Publishing
Published: 2024-07-30T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I spent three days in the marshes caring for and watching over Octavius—three long days that were easily among the best and the worst of my life. My friend’s affliction was just as baffling to me as it was maddening, for at times he would be his old self, sharp-witted and thoughtful, and we would have the most delightful conversations that reminded me of simpler days when we were younger. But then, for no apparent reason, Octavius would start to babble nonsense and drool like an infant, sometimes having violent tremors that would send his eyes rolling upwards into his head. I did what I could for my friend during these horrible bouts, terrified that he was dying as I held him close, whispering in his ear how much Rome and I needed him. Sometimes, Octavius would spasm so much that he would end up soiling himself, which I knew brought him endless shame when he realized what had happened afterward. I made light of it every time, cleaning my friend’s body and clothing without judgment or disgust. We were more than just friends, he and I, and I knew if the situation had been reversed, he would have done the same for me without any reservations.

“I don’t deserve you, Luan,” Octavius said to me the second night after one such incident had mercifully come and gone. I’d finally convinced him that he still had a purpose in this life and not to give up, although I knew the weight of the mistake he’d made while under the spell of his sickness still hung heavy over him.

“No, you surely don’t,” I agreed with a grin. We were sitting beneath a series of leather panels that I’d cut up from the tent Maecenas had sent us, which I’d attached to the branches of the willow tree with rope since there hadn’t been enough room to erect the tent on the knoll. A crudely fashioned clay oil lamp lit the interior faintly, lending the skin of Octavius’ face an orangish glow. I’d made a small fire earlier to cook our dinner but had since let it go out, so my friend had a thick blanket around him, tucked up to his chin against the fall chill. “But for some reason, the gods have tasked me with watching out for your sorry arse,” I added. “So it seems there’s no escaping you.”

Octavius chuckled, with his forehead still slick with sweat from his most recent attack. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you, Luan.”

“No, you’re not,” I grunted. I lay back on the bed of mosses and grasses I’d fashioned for myself, propping my elbow up at an angle and cupping my chin in the palm of my hand so I could see my friend.

I saw a familiar twinkle of mischief light up in Octavius’ eyes. “No, I’m not a burden?” he asked innocently.

I snorted. “No, you’re not sorry. You know damn well what I meant.”

“Oh,” Octavius said in mock surprise. “I must have misunderstood you.



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