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The winter had seemed to just go on forever. Alternating with cold, cold winds from the west and icy rain that turned the camp's grounds into one big, cold puddle of mud and snow and frost from the east that at least made it easier to walk but not any less cold.
The damn cold that just seemed to seep in everywhere, down every exposed gap between your cloak and your neck, through your socks, up your tunic and which made your nose run.
One night where he'd been on guard duty with one of the youngest legionaries, some 17 year old guy from Campania, the poor guy had broken down in tears, telling him that even though he was wearing two tunics and both cloaks he couldn't take the biting cold any more. It had been during one of the periods with harsh and cold western winds and that particular night the sleet had fallen almost horizontally due to the wind.
Decimus had no idea how the insane Gauls dealt with this weather. The centurion had decided they hole up in the camp over the winter, and he was happy for that decision. This simply wasn't a place for civilized people.
But now, at the beginning of Martius, the winter had finally loosened its grip on Armorica (although it had left in a snowstorm) and spring seemed to be on its way.
Of course there was still a snow pile here or there in shadowy or north-facing places. Of course there was.
And of course he'd been picked to go on the first patrol of the year. Not even the sight of the small, yellow coltsfoots just outside the camp or the bright, sharp sunshine could do anything to ease his apprehension as they made their way towards the forest.
The forest was still grey and without leaves. Everything was so bare. The grass was yellow and dead and only the holly in the forest stood green.
"At least this means we have a fine view," Quintus, who was bringing up the rear, said. "We can see them from a distance and plan accordingly."
"You didn't think that through," Caius in front remarked. "That means they can also see us clearly."
They continued in silence for a while, going further into the forest. Oh, let this be an uneventful first patrol, he prayed. Please let them be in some other part of the forest. It's such a big forest, what are the odds they should be right where we are?
In a way the silent forest was even more unnerving. Of course, there were birds twittering here and there, but compared to later in the spring it was still a very lifeless forest.
He drew the cloak tighter around him.
"H-haven't we patrolled enough now?" Aulus right in front of him asked a little later. And immediately shut his mouth.
A dog barked. And the sound came closer. A little white dog with black markings came bounding down the forest path towards them. Upon seeing them it stopped abruptly and began growling.
"Oh no," breathed Quintus behind him. "It's his dog..."
"R-retreat, quietly," Caius whispered.
Too late.
"Idefix! Sit!"
The giant man came into view from behind a big, old oak. How could one person be so big, Decimus wondered. About two heads taller than most Romans and four times as wide.
He could hear on his comrades' breathing that they were at least as scared as he himself was. Four pila were pointing in the Gaul's direction but they were all shaking.
The giant red-haired man's eyes lit up in childish excitement as he saw them and he clapped his hands.
"Romans! The first Romans of the season! All to me!" he exclaimed happily.
Caius, who after all had been appointed leader of the patrol, tried with diplomacy.
"E-exactly...so...so since we're the f-first of the season, how about we just...g-go our separate w-ways?"
The man didn't react. Or rather, react was exactly what he did, as he lunged at them.
Decimus saw Caius, who wasn't a small man, being flung aside like a rag doll. He heard Aulus's nose break. He stumbled backwards, seeing stars, as the meaty fist collided with his cheek. The last he saw was Quintus being swung, by the ankles, like a club, towards him. He heard the crash of their armours clashing together and felt the impact of Quintus's body in his chest. He fell heavily to the forest floor with Quintus on top of him. Then everything went black.
Decimus didn't know how long he was out cold, but he slowly came to. Gingerly he touched his face. The cheek felt swollen but not like anything had been broken. His left eye was swollen shut, though. He carefully probed his teeth with the tongue. No, thankfully no lost teeth this time. He winced when he licked his lips and felt the split lip and tasted the blood which also seemed to be running from his nose.
Every breath hurt, but that was hardly a surprise with the still unconscious Quintus lying on top of him, across his chest.
He looked up at the naked trees' branches and the blue March-sky with small, fluffy white clouds.
What am I doing here, he thought, not for the first time. Of course, he knew full well what he was doing there. He was having a shot at a better life than his parents and grandparents, but in times like these he seriously wondered if he wouldn't have been better off remaining at the absolute bottom of the societal ladder back home in Rome, where just about the only thing that distinguished him from a slave was his status as a free man. At least there weren't any giant, violent Gauls in Rome.
He could hear from the groans and moans that Aulus and Caius were getting back on their feet. Just as he was about to check Quintus's pulse, his eyes fluttered open and Quintus looked at him with a bleary gaze.
"I-is he gone now?" he croaked.
Decimus tried to nod. "Yes, he's gone for now."
Caius walked stiffly towards them. "At least they rarely linger."
That was true. The Gauls seemed to be satisfied with beating them up and then continue on their merry way. Rumour had it that they killed wild boars with their bare hands, so in that regard they should consider themselves lucky that they only ended up with broken bones and concussions, he thought.
Quintus grimaced in pain as he slowly lifted himself off of him, and he remained on all fours afterwards.
"You okay? Where does it hurt?" Caius asked.
"My left side," Quintus gasped. "It hurts to breathe." He was silent for a moment. "And my ankles. He grabbed me by my ankles."
Meanwhile Decimus tried to roll onto his side to get up. His chest also hurt, but probably less than Quintus's. But when he tried to get to his feet, it was as if the world tilted and he felt nauseous. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Can you walk?" Aulus said, his nose swollen and blood running down over his lips and chin.
He nodded weakly. "Just give me a moment." Taking a deep breath he slowly got to his feet. Stretching up didn't feel good, and when he glanced down he could see a dent in the armour from where Quintus had hit.
Looking at his comrades he could see black eyes, bruises, split lips and bloody noses. And Quintus, who was still on all fours, was very, very pale. Most of their shields had been torn apart, as had their pila which were lying strewn across the path.
Supporting himself against a tree he said, "But where are our helmets? And your caligae, Caius?"
"Oh no," groaned Caius. "Not again."
But yes. Their helmets were not to be seen anywhere, which meant they were probably on their way to be displayed in some barbaric fashion in the Gaulish village. He shuddered. But still, better their helmets than their heads, he thought.
"If you take the still functional shield, then we'll take Quintus," Caius said.
Technically they were supposed to bring every piece of weapon back to the camp, but they had quickly discovered that these Gauls cared less for excellent, Roman weaponry and instead preferred to use their fists, so they were not in any hurry to bring the sorry pieces back. Instead they just put them under a bush for later retrieval.
The two others hoisted Quintus up so that his arms were across their shoulders, and they began the slow and painful retreat.
Meanwhile the sky had become grey and cloudy and the wind had picked up, becoming colder. Decimus shuddered inside his cloak. The sooner they came back home to the camp, the better.
Bringing up the rear he kept a sharp ear for any sounds of dogs barking or heavy footsteps. You never knew with these madmen. Perhaps they came back for seconds, this being the start of the season and all.
Finally the forest thinned out and they could see the familiar sight of the camp's palisades. They drew a collective sigh of relief as they crossed the bridge.
The centurion's face fell when he saw them approach. "Was it them?" he asked.
"Yes," Caius replied. "The giant fat redhead and his dog."
"And the gnome with the blond hair?" the centurion asked.
"Nowhere to be seen," Caius continued. "But perhaps he wanted to pamper his friend with this treat."
"Pamper? Treat?!"
"Yes, we were the first of the season," Aulus added.
The centurion drew a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. You're dismissed, go to the infirmary and get patched up."
The medic's face also fell when they entered.
"So, it's this time of year again," he sighed. "You can place him here," he said and pointed to the examination table.
They carefully laid Quintus on it. He was pale and sweat was beading on his forehead. They quickly got him out of his armour and tunic, yet he couldn't keep from whimpering in pain even though they tried handling him with care. From his armpit to the top of his hip a bruise had begun to form.
Decimus leant against the table, looking at Quintus's pale torso. He felt faintly sick at the thought that the bruise had been caused by Quintus slamming into him. Hopefully it was nothing serious he mused, as his eyes roamed over the bruised body, from the ribcage down to the ridge of the hip and the navel where a few, dark curls led a small trail further down. He shuddered and felt overwhelmingly dizzy again. A pair of hands led him to a seat, and he sat down while the medic went to work. He could hear him ask and Quintus reply between moans of pain, but the sound was further and further away...
A sharp jab to his shoulder brought him awake again. "Hey! Don't sleep! Not until you've been examined!" Caius said.
Decimus was next and also needed help to get out of the armour and tunic. The medic carefully pressed and felt around on his chest and listened to his lungs.
"Well, the armour might have taken most of the impact but some of your ribs have been bent. Now, what's with the head?"
A short while later the verdict was clear. "A milder concussion. Go sit over there."
The medic pointed at the bed where Quintus lay, his chest and ankles bandaged but looking a little less pained.
"I've served at Gergovia, Alesia and Hispania, but I've never encountered so many concussions and sprained ankles before coming here," the medic added. "Concussions and sprained ankles...what is happening here?"
From where Decimus sat he could see Aulus gripping the edge of the examination table, his knuckles white, and how he kicked a little when his nose was reset. He winced in sympathy.
Just as the medic had finished patching up Caius, the centurion entered the tent.
"What's the status?" he asked, surveying them. The medic cleared his throat.
"We've got one person with a concussion, broken ribs and sprained ankles. He'll need four weeks' rest. Then there's one with bent ribs, milder concussion and general bruising. One with a broken nose. And finally just regular bruising and as usual small dog bites to the buttocks."
The centurion came over to where they were sitting. Decimus felt very vulnerable as he was sitting there with his chest bandaged, a cold, wet cloth pressed against the left side of his face and wearing nothing but braccae.
They all looked apprehensively up at the centurion, who took a deep breath.
"Well, men, you unfortunately met with an overwhelming force today. However! This is but a minor setback. Remember, Rome wasn't built in a day. At some point they'll run out of their potion, and their luck, one way or another. And then, then we can report back to Caesar that all of Gaul is conquered!"
Then he turned and left the infirmary. Decimus sighed, and immediately winced in pain. It was going to be a long summer. He could feel it.