LEGION by Jones Geraint
Author:Jones, Geraint
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-20T00:00:00+00:00
28
It was a long time before I was done suggesting the crude acts that Marcus could perform with the staff of Gallus, the legionâs eagle. As a child and a young man I was always trying to be a comedian, but those days had died when I had tramped on my fatherâs skull. Only Marcus could pull the jokes from me now. He was a window to my past. The parts that I wanted to remember, even with the pain that they caused me.
I hugged him so tightly that I thought his back would snap. âGods, I have missed you.â
Marcus stood back from me. There were tears in his eyes. Tears on his cheeks. âIâm so proud of you, Corvus. Standard-bearer? Corvus, Iâm so proud!â
âDid you bring wine?â I asked, uncomfortable with the adulation, even from him.
âForget the wine, brother, give me the stories!â
âWine,â I insisted.
âIâm taking a walk,â I called to the sentries who were posted nearby â I wasnât the only one charged with her protection. After all, I could hardly turn up in the latrines with the legionâs standard in my hand, could I?
âThese men are your friends?â Marcus asked me as we walked away.
I shook my head. âI get different ones every day depending on which cohort has the camp guard, and I canât talk to them. Legate would have their heads if they seemed distracted.â
âBut heâll be all right with you drinking?â Marcus smirked.
âHe loves me,â I said honestly. âCalls me the hero of the Eighth.â
Marcus grinned. âFear the Eighth.â
âYou heard about that?â
âThe whole armyâs heard about that! The battle is growing famous, brother.â
âWhat are they calling it?â
When Marcus smiled with pride, I could tell that the name was going to be a pompous one. âThe battle of the night and day,â he said with adulation in his tone.
Gods. Worse than I thought. âIt was day, then night,â I corrected.
âWell, thatâs what theyâre calling it.â
âGreat.â
My friend looked at me sideways. âShouldnât you be wearing your bearskin?â he asked, referring to the thick fur that draped from helmet over shoulders, a symbol of my rank.
âSlaves are still cleaning it,â I said. The previous man in my position had left his mark with pints of blood.
âThereâs nothing more important than the appearance of a soldier,â Marcus replied. âItâs the four Ds, Corvus. Dress. Discipline. And dealing death.â
I rolled my eyes. âI missed you, brother.â
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