Page 50 of Scorched Earth

Pot, kettle,Marcus thought, well knowing the primus had his own proclivities when it came to the dead, but he kept his mouth shut. Being forced to think about practicalities was calming his mind, which was the first step in maintaining his ability to breathe. “That’s fine. Have a few men bring it over.”

“Will do. We should also get you cleaned up, sir. Looking like your usual self will help morale by showing the men everything is as it should be.”

Nothing was as it should be.

“Titus had Rastag put a proper Cel bath into his fortress, and since he ain’t going to have need of it, being dead and all, might as well get use from you.”

“Your sentiment for the fallen is as inspiring as always,” Marcus muttered, but he didn’t argue as Gibzen hauled him to his feet, steadying him when the world spun.

“Walk on your own,” Gibzen said. “Doesn’t look good if I’m helping you.”

Marcus forced his shoulders to square, then started toward the exit. Outside, the camp was a flurry of centurions screaming orders in their typical overaggressive way. All three legions were an organized scramble of men falling to command, though everyone stopped what they were doing to salute as he trudged past. Gibzen’s men formed up around him, eyes watchful. It struck Marcus that none of the men under Gibzen’s command were the same as when his previous primus, Agrippa, had held the role, and he frowned, disliking that for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate.

Climbing the steps to the fortress nearly sapped what remained of his energy, but he managed to make it down the corridor, Gibzen moving ahead to open a door. Marcus stepped inside, where he paused.

It was indeed a proper Cel bath, a basin large enough to fit ten men at the center, simple fountains recirculating water from each of the four corners. The tile was set in a mosaic of reds and golds, columns held up a ceiling painted in a simple fresco, and light poured in from a glass skylight high above.

He hated it.

“Looks like it belongs in some senator’s villa. All we’re missing is some good Cel girls.”

“Have someone find me Amarin,” Marcus said. “I need…” He trailed off because the list of things he needed was too long for his sluggish mind to begin to wrap around. The back of his skull ached from cracking against Felix’s breastplate when Ashok had attacked, the injury compounding all his other problems.

He only half heard Gibzen give the orders as he peeled off blood-splattered undergarments, tossing them aside and walking into the pool. It was blissfully cool, the filtered water clouding to a rusty hue as it rinsed away blood and sweat and filth. He sank beneath the surface, but in the silence, Teriana’s voice filled his head.Why give me everything and then take it away in the next breath?

It was because it had been the only truth he could give her in the endless sea of lies.

His lungs burned, demanding air, and Marcus surfaced to find Amarin having appeared. His servant was in the middle of a tug of war with Gibzen over a tray, the latter winning by virtue of youth and size. Gibzen circled the pool with the tray. It contained a pitcher of water, food, soap, and a razor.

“Racker indicated that you need bed rest,” Amarin said, glaring fiercely at Gibzen. “That if you don’t get it, you’re liable to die.”

“I’ll get him to bed after he’s cleaned up,” Gibzen muttered. “Don’t treat him like some sort of invalid.”

“You’re accountable for at least some of his injuries,” Amarin snapped. “Though I see you’ve come groveling back, you nasty creature.”

Gibzen turned dark eyes on Amarin, and Marcus held up a hand. “Enough. What was done cannot be undone, and I’ve no interest in casting blame. I’ll sleep when I’m fed and washed, and when I wake, I hope it is to find everything back in order, most particularly in command.”

The standoff continued a few heartbeats, then Amarin gave a curt nod and left the room.

Gibzen opened his mouth, but Marcus shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

The primus shrugged and took up a post near the door, hand resting on the hilt of his gladius. “So… it took you to Sibern?”

Marcus gave a short nod, then began to mechanically shovel food into his mouth to avoid conversation, washing it down with mouthful after mouthful of water. His stomach roiled under the unfamiliar onslaught, but he ignored the pain.

“See any of those wolves the Sibernese boys are always yapping about?”

“Yes. They hunted us between shelters.”

“They as big as they say?”

A flicker of memory filled his mind’s eye: glittering eyes, hot breath, and white fangs. “Yes.”

Gibzen whistled. “Kill any?”

“One.”

“How did you kill it?”