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Caius Marcius announced he'd take first watch, knowing that the night before besieging his hometown there would be no sleep. The Volscian soldiers looked at him with perplexity. They never quite understood his rank—was he not a general? he could see them wondering. He acts equal with Aufidius, at any rate. Why would a general serve as a watch?
Tullus Aufidius himself only nodded and asked who'd take the next shift, but while his spoke he narrowed his eyes at Marcius as if inquiring what he was thinking.
The sun had just set when Marcius began to patrol the perimeter of the camp and the sky darkened into a purple bruise menaced by black and threatening clouds. He let his feet lead him up the small ridge that hid the Volscian camp from the Roman outskirts. The city wall was still a few miles off, a shadow against the horizon. Between the slumbering army and the target of their malice lay the plebeians waving fields of grain. The rustling of the drought-striken stalks sounded almost as a whispered—a whispered, Marcius, thought, of begging to be arsoned. But then he rose his gaze to the silvery curve of the moon which had risen just above the Roman wall, grinning as if it were sweet Diana watching over the crib over her wards. Oh, wouldn't she weep if that crib were run with blood.
He heard footsteps crunch on the dry earth behind him, and his and flew to the hilt of his sword. In the twilight, he could not discern the man's uniform, and as for his identity, his face was hidden under an iron helm. But he charged Marcius from along the top of the ridge, his blade drawn. Marcius unsheathed his sword and ran forth to collide his opponent.
Their swords clanged before them. Marcius jumped back and lunged again, but his blade was swatted aside. They danced this way for some time, and Marcius quickly realized his opponent was only defending not attacking. As Marcius alone had no shield, his body was more open for strikes. Curious, Marcius relaxed his attack, aiming only to keep his opponent at swordplay rather than do bodily harm. But it seemed the other man was not pleased by this game, for when he realized this change of strategy, he slammed Marcius with his shield, knocking him from the precarious precipice of the ridge and sending him rolling down the hill.
Though he was dizzy and scratched from the stones, Marcius leapt to his feet. He had dropped his sword in the fall and was wont to search for it here in the tall wheat of the plebeians' field, but the enemy was jumping from rock to rock down the hill. He had abandoned his shield and traveled lightly. Marcius had the choice to fight unarmed or to flee.
He crouched low in the grain and watched while his opponent came slashing through the stalks. Marcius ducked under the swinging blade and tackled his enemy 'round his legs, twisting them so the man would land with his sword pressed between the ground and his breastplate.
Marcius pinned the man under his knees and removed his helm. Though it was dark in the shadow of the grains, he recognized the profile.
“Aufidius?” he said. “Why?”
The Volscian general lying beneath him began to laugh, first a soft chuckle, then loud and heartily. “I—I did most enjoy your blows,” he said between fits.
Marcius slid off Aufidius and let him upright himself.
Aufidius reached out and rubbed away the blood dripping down the Roman's forehead. “You fought most honorably,” he said.
Marcius turned his face away. “Your gag was in no way honorable. To think I called you a lion I was proud to hunt.”
“What?” Aufidius said. “You know I held back. You were in no danger.”
Marcius knew there was truth in his words, though the fall did rattle his head. He shifted his gaze back towards the Volscian, who had risen to his feet.
“And,” Aufidius added. “I knew you needed release as much as I. Today your mind was clouded with thought unnatural to your character.”
“Any romantic feelings of Roman loyalty I have long since killed,” Marcius said defensively.
“I never said else,” Aufidius said. He clasped Marcius's hand and helped him stand. “I've put another man on watch. You ought retire.”
“Yes,” Marcius said. “Tomorrow we lay siege.” His hand groped towards his lightened hilt. “My blade!”
He and Audifius searched for his sword in the moonlit field and then headed back to the camp without the need for any words.