Read Online Exiles of Arcadia: Legionnaire by James Gawley - Free Book Online

thought he understood. Being one of the Dead Men meant that people treated him differently: he always drew the toughest jobs and the hardest shifts, because command assumed that he could take it. So far they were right; Primus had never folded, and never once complained. Not even after Lepus.
    Titus continued. “When Marius and Seneca refused to march against the Woade, they disobeyed a direct command from the Senate. That’s not just insubordination. It’s sacrilege. When they did that, they threw away our honor along with theirs. That’s how some people see it, anyway. There are some men who look at the whole war, and say to themselves ‘every piece of discipline these two ever handed out has been a lie. Look at what they do, when they don’t like their orders.’”
    Primus thought about that for a while. “But they don’t call Marius a hypocrite. It’s only my father they talk about.” He had never admitted it out loud, but it was true.  
    “Well,” Titus said slowly, “it’s a bit easier to understand with the general. He came from the Woade; it’s natural he would refuse to help exterminate them. But Seneca is old Arcadian... your ancestor helped create the Senate. For your father it’s quite a turnabout, supporting Marius.”
    Primus was uncomfortable talking about his famous ancestor. “What about Varro? What happened between them?”
    He sighed. “That’s not my story to tell. Just remember: because a man is out here with us, it doesn’t mean he loves the general. Or your father. You keep that in mind, and you’ll be all right.”
    Primus shook his head. More secrets. He knew then that the truth about his father was bad; if he’d done nothing wrong, Titus would’ve said so. “I am sick to death of secrets.”
    Titus put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard to hear, son. But your father doesn’t decide who you are. Only you do that. Let these old bones stay buried, and make your own reputation, if you can.”
    Titus squeezed his shoulder for a moment more. Then he rose, the old man’s joints cracking as he pushed himself up off the damp and stony earth. “That’s enough practice for today,” he said, stooping to retrieve his weapon. He moved off slowly, leaving Primus alone in the shadow of the great stone tower.

    ***

    The night before he was to leave, Primus lay on his bunk listening to the night-breathing of three hundred men who had been his brothers. The only light in the barracks came from a single oil lamp by the door. Maneuvering by touch, Primus untied his freshly packed kit and dug out his leather kit-bag. Tugging it open, he drew out a small stone of river-polished granite. The face on the stone was invisible in the dim light, but Primus saw it clearly in his mind. He ran a thumb across the portrait, feeling the sweep of the paint where his mother’s hair tumbled to her shoulder. It was the only personal token he owned; the rest of his kit was painfully regulation, from sword to sewing-needle. Even the stone had only been left to him by accident, discovered when Primus snuck into his father’s abandoned quarters.  
    Now Primus was leaving behind even less: just a vacant cot and an empty chest. He wondered who would miss him when he was gone. Titus , he told himself. But he could not make himself believe it. For all his kindness, Primus was just a burden on the old man’s time. Lepus would have missed him. Despite his mockery, Lepus had been a friend, before the accident at least. And Sextus... he pushed the thought out of his mind. Sextus had abandoned his brothers. Primus would waste no tears on him.
    Suddenly the room full of sleeping men was nightmarishly crowded. Primus rolled off of his bunk to pull on his boots, and crept to the door. The quartermaster let him past on the excuse that he was headed for the latrine, and Primus escaped into the stinging cold air of the night. There were no clouds overhead, and the stars hung low over the river canyon. Primus