The Last Dying Light: A Novel of Belisarius (The Last of the Romans Book 1) by William Havelock

Author:William Havelock [Havelock, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Havelock Books
Published: 2020-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

THE THIRD GIFT

THE NEXT DAYS WERE FILLED with preparation and drills. More bandae arrived and filled the Imperial Barracks, and thousands of wooden barrels, stuffed to their brims and requiring multiple men to bear, were stacked onto the fleet of ships that would carry us to Rome’s northernmost province.

A second army was making similar preparations in Sinope, where the Cappadocian and Pontic Army under Belisarius was scheduled to depart soon after the main fleet from Constantinople. Stories spread throughout camp of their new weapons and armor, fascinating gossip for us who followed the same ever-orthodox construction of battle lines. A centurion from another banda even claimed that Belisarius had packed African elephants into his cargo hold, yet Mundus quickly dismissed such talk as nonsense.

Now promoted and given overall command of the banda, Mundus poured most of his into efforts tallying up the many supplies needed for the march. One new task was the creation of his own banda standard, for which he took the figure of a long-tusked boar that would rest alongside Archelaus’ viper and the broader army’s Imperial Eagle. Mundus gave me the honor of selecting officer replacements for my own soldiers, which, as a centurion, had risen to fifty Thracian spearmen. Rosamund prepared plumes for my new dekarchoi: I gave one to Perenus to oversee our old group of ten, and another to Isaacius to oversee the new unit. After naming Cephalas his second-in-command, Perenus called for another round of raucous celebration, while Isaacius greeted his fortunes with a giddy cheer.

“You are more than worthy of this,” I said, averting his face, but not so quickly that I did not glimpse his watery eyes. I left Isaacius and Perenus to celebrate as I gathered my few possessions and navigated my way to Mundus’ old quarters.

For her part, Rosamund took to her increased responsibilities as head of a centurion’s household with alacrity. She urged me to bring on additional servants, and though my wages could now support several other attendants, with so little time before our departure, I promised her I would do so once we returned from Cherson. Accordingly, she made do with the borrowed help from other servants and slaves that were the lifeblood of a camp. Rosamund procured new boots and armor for me, replacing first my dented ringmail for new, tightly woven scales that covered my body neck to groin, and then receiving a bevy of other deliveries from blacksmiths and tanners and all manner of other craftsmen. With diligence and skill, she transformed me into a Roman officer in appearance, not just in name.

“I will not permit you to be hurt again.” Rosamund tightened an armor strap, surveyed and approved the kit, then brushed her fingertips against my arm with a playful, knowing glance. I still felt the guilt of never quite telling her the truth, that I did not love her the way I worried she did me, but it was not a guilt so powerful as to move me to speak, nor was I a brave enough man to battle against my own discomfort.

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