by Leon

The scorching hot sun blazed down upon Tullus’ perspired face. He gripped admirably to his spear, and his shield stood upright positioned in the dirt. Tullus maintained a firm posture, heeding the Centurion’s command to prepare for an impending battle. Tullus stood in a safe zone protected and occupied by the Roman Empire.

In truth, there was not an enemy near me as far as the sun met the horizon.

“The four winds stray their hands on this day,” Tullus heard a Legionnaire near him say. Sisenna extended his arm, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Mercy be upon us Aeolus, send your gracious winds to ease your troubled warriors.”

Tullus kept to himself and Sisenna’s words drifted away from him. Tullus did pray, but he did not seek mercy from the Roman deity of the four winds. His prayers he whispered soundlessly in his heart. To the God of Abraham and of Isaac and of Jacob. Use me to speak Your truth to my people. Give me the courage not to hide Your truth when the time comes.

Tullus swallowed, but nothing came from it. His tongue was too dry to generate saliva. It was a struggle to resist the temptation set before his gaze. His mouth longed for a drop of the flowing stream in the grassy distance. The Centurion was a cruel, heartless man, which was not a surprising trait for a Roman. Quintus commanded his legionaries to camp here, while he himself relaxed amidst the shallow tail of the river. He stood forward-facing his twenty-six men, hoping at least one would speak ill of him. This was his way of building endurance among his legionnaires. Was it right to question Lord Centurion’s judgment? Was he not a messenger of Caesar whom I swore to serve? Tullus let these objections slip from his mind.

In time, the sun would dip beyond the horizon, and Sisenna would fall. He laid upon the grass unconscious, overcome by the brutal heat. Around this time Quintus called to his men one by one to join him in the waters. His greatest combatants were called first, followed by his lesser men. Tullus and five others would not be called, as they did not please the Centurion. Tullus accepted this brutality as his due.

Quintus ordered his men to ready themselves for departure. Tullus reached for Sisenna to carry him into the river, but he was swiftly rebuked. “Leave him to die,” Quintus instructed. “A weak man such as this will only burden our unit.”

Tullus held his tongue and loosed Sisenna’s arm which he had wrapped around his neck. Tullus felt uneasy allowing an innocent man to die. “Sir take him to the river. I will gladly take his place in death.”

“You would sacrifice yourself for one so pitiful?” Quintus crossed his arms, “No, take your knife and slit his throat. He has failed the emperor and deserves no less a fate than to meet the spirit of hades.”

“I cannot.” Tullus hesitated.  

“You refuse an order from Rome?” Quintus pressed in on him.

“I cannot raise my sword against another man,” Tullus explained, continuing to maintain a stance of respect toward his superior. He crossed his right arm over his chest. He knew he could hide the truth no longer. “I have no quarrel against Caesar. My faith forbids me to raise my hand against another man. I cannot obey your order, if it means my death, so be it.”

Quintus circled the legionary like a predator. “I’ve heard of this plague,” he paused, gesturing for his men to apprehend Tullus for treason. They sprinted toward him and seized him without resistance. “They are called Christians, a group of religious zealots opposed to the reign of Caesar. I find it disgusting this sickness has stricken my unit.”

“We do not oppose the reign of anyone, my lord. But we cannot raise our hands against flesh, for our God has declared all life precious and valuable.”

Quintus smiled, seemingly in amusement. “You call yourself a Roman, yet you will not slay those less than you? I call you a coward and a traitor. Further, I call your God a fool. A deity that cannot see the superiority of Rome has no place among our ranks.”

Quintus took a dagger from his belt and hammered it into the dirt. “I give you one final opportunity.” He pointed toward Sisenna, “Slay him and redeem yourself from your sickened mind.”

“I cannot. In truth, our God has declared us valuable enough to send his own Son to die in our place.” Tullus protested, “He has called us to do the same for our brothers. Again, I plead on his behalf, take my life and not his.”

Quintus was silent for a time. Some of the Legionnaires grinned eagerly anticipating the impending bloodshed, whilst others remained quiet in fear of falling on the poor side of lord Centurions anger.

Quintus raised his fist, “Your judgment has been predestined by our Emperor and God. You cannot kill a man, therefore, you cannot stop me from carrying out your execution. You will blame no one save your God for your own death. May your last breath recall that your zealous leader was brought to his death by a Roman sword as well.”

Quintus drew his sword and immediately his men loosened Tullus from their hold. Tullus upon pure instinct drew his own blade. The Centurion laughed, “Now you decide to call upon your Roman spirit? I suppose in the face of death one will always be a Roman.”

Conviction fell over Tullus’ head as he realized what he had done. He gathered his composure allowing the blade to fall to his side.

Quintus grinned. “Surrendering? Pick up your blade and I will grant you a challenge. Kill me, defy your God and I will declare upon my last breath you shall be Centurion.”

Tullus closed his eyes. This would be his end and he would happily embrace it. To meet death in the name of his faith gave him a comforting peace no man would find sanity from. The wind carried from the West, cooling Tullus as he sought peace within himself. The wind brought with relief… But something… More. Tullus heard a whisper. “Take up your sword Tullus, defend yourself and strike back. Do not seek his death, and I will be with you.”

If Tullus had not taken up his sword a moment sooner, Quintus would have killed him. A loud crack met the air as metal impacted metal. Tullus parried every swift strike that the Centurion moved on. An uproar of cheering burst out among the Legionaries as Tullus and  Quintus exchanged blows. Mockery, laughter, and ridicule all bit at the heels of Tullus as the men wagered in favor of lord Centurion.

Despite the commotion in his honor, Quintus’ face burned red. Quintus was giving everything he had to bring Tullus to his knees, but it was not enough. The spectators began to realize this as Tullus made the first blow; blood fell from lord Centurion’s side, but Tullus made sure this blow was not fatal. Quintus was skilled enough in combat to know this.

“Do you mock me, traitor?” he said.

Quintus whistled for his horse, a wretched move in a verbal agreement of dueling especially for a Centurion. Once more the legionnaires erupted into laughter as they had seen the Centurion sweep more than a few heads off from the height of his horse. Tullus had little hope as Quintus charged him from his mount. Tullus tried to parry but each time failed and was left bloodied from a strike to his sides.

The frustration, however, grew in Quintus, for he should not have required this long to bring him to his knees. And despite his upper hand, Tullus stood again, ready to meet the Centurion’s next slash. Quintus kicked the side of his mount and took off into the distance to gather momentum. He circled around and charged Tullus at a rapid pace. Tullus knew if he failed to parry this attack, he would lose an arm… or worse.

Quintus rushed from the north, his mount’s hooves trampling the grass as he swiftly approached. Anger and fury eclipsed Quintus face for the embarrassment Tullus had put him through.

At that moment, a strong wind flushed against Tullus back and toward Quintus. It startled the horse enough to halt abruptly and the beast’s legs gave in. Quintus flung from the mount into the hard side of the river. The sounds of bones cracking against stone broke the cheering. In shock, the legionnaires rushed to aid their Centurion. There was silence all around him. Tullus, tired, drained and bloodied picked himself up and walked toward the injured Centurion. There was more silence.

A legionary glared up at Tullus and crossed his fist over his chest. “Lord Centurion,” he said.

Quintus was dead spread out among the rocks with a broken neck.