The Wailing Legionnaire

The Wailing Legionnaire

By Geordan Ashford

     In a small village on the coast of the Mediterranean, there lived an old Legionnaire named Marcellus. Many in the village blamed the years he spent serving Rome as the reason that he was “marked by Mars.” He couldn’t stand to have any work done on the land given to him, as he would focus for days and weeks making sure even the tiniest detail on a plank of wood was correct. By the time the first board of his house was up to his standards, he would fall into a depressive stupor, destroying the entire project and giving up on the very thing that he spent months obsessing over. 
     To protect the village from himself and vice versa, he went down to the beaches that were still apart of the land he owned and made his home in a cave. The villagers all believed that the cave led straight to Pluto, and at night they could hear Marcellus wailing, calling unknown men to arms against an enemy they figured was long dead. 
     The only person who would come to see Marcellus was Titus, a young orphan who no one wanted and was constantly in trouble. One day, he appeared in the village after his home was destroyed by a Cyclops, and without parents he found refuge in a thrown together shack he haphazardly built on Marcellus’ land. With the villagers scared to step foot near Marcellus, and Titus unable to protect himself from the bigger kids, it was the safest place for him. He would go down to the cave, bringing with him the fish he caught and alcohol he stole to bribe Marcellus to tell him stories of the past. Marcellus would tell him about growing up and his parents, and what life was like before and during his time as a legionnaire, but never spoke of battle and war. This would usually annoy Titus, who would pester Marcellus about more exciting tales. 
     “Marcellus, can’t you tell me about the great battles you fought?” Titus would say.
Marcellus would shake his head, “No, no, I shall not. None of those battles seem so great now, and it would only bring back memories I would like to leave behind.”
     “Oh, come now old man. I’m sure that if the sword over there and your helmet and your shield and your armor could talk, they would tell me much more interesting things than what you tell me!”
     “If they had any respect for the one who once used them, they would lay there and stay quiet.”
     Fed up with this usual back and forth, Titus went into town and stumbled upon a group of Roman soldiers that were passing through on their way to their new station. Titus then got an idea. Maybe they knew Marcellus and they would tell him about his past! In fact, one of the men wore the helm of a legionnaire. He must have served with Marcellus! As Titus approached them, he overheard them speaking to the blacksmith that was repairing one of their spears. 
     “It has been a while since we have seen any soldiers in these parts.” The blacksmith said. “In fact, the only person in town we have who has ever served as you do is old Marcellus.”
     The legionnaire looked stunned. “Marcellus? Is he about this tall and bears a scar on his right cheek?” The legionnaire held his hand about where his eyebrows were.
     “I’m not sure how tall he is, but I am sure he bears the same scar you speak of. Got quite a good look at it while he screamed at me about how I make my swords.”
     The legionnaire laughed, “Yes, that sounds like the man. In the later years of his service, he became overly precise about everything. A great quality to have when serving Rome, but terrible when dealing with its citizens.”
     Titus suddenly came out of hiding. “I know Marcellus! I could take you to him if you wanted to see him!” 
     The legionnaire tried to decline, but the boy’s excitement overtook him, and he followed Titus to where Marcellus stayed. As they walked along the beach, Titus asked him questions. 
     “Sir, did you serve with Marcellus?”
     “Yes, I sure did. He trained me into the man I am today.” He said proudly from atop his horse. 
     “Did you fight alongside him?”
     “No, no one fought alongside Marcellus.”
     Titus was confused. “Why? Did he not fall in line with the other soldiers and hold the formations all the soldiers learn?”
     The legionnaire stared into the distance, as if he was watching something that wasn’t there. “Marcellus lost too many of his brothers, and yet he was never killed. He figured he was cursed to be the only man to survive most of his battles. One day, he decided he would test the gods themselves, and before any of us could stop him, he rode to the enemy camp and threw himself at them.”
     Titus stared in disbelief. “What happened?”
     “Obviously he survived.” The legionnaire said sarcastically. “The enemy camp wasn’t so lucky. When we had finally gotten the nerve to go retrieve what we were sure was going to be his remains, we found him sitting in the middle of the camp, the only living soul, sobbing.” The legionnaire finally broke his gaze from the vision and looked down at Titus.
     “Why was he crying? Was he not happy to claim victory?” Titus said.
     “He blames himself for as those who fell beside him. If he's an unkillable human siege weapon, no one should die anymore, right?”
     Titus looked at the ground sheepishly. “So, is that why he left?”
     “No. In fact, that became our commander’s favorite tactic. He would have the archers rain arrows upon the enemy, and once they had fallen back to their camp for shelter, he would send in Marcellus.”
     Titus was suddenly excited again. “I’m sure Marcellus was honored with such a responsibility.”
     “No, he was usually quite upset by the time he was allowed to cross the battlefield.”
     “Why?”
     “Because he was enraged that he wasn’t sent sooner.”
     When they had made it to the cave, Marcellus was outside watching Sol set. As Titus called to him to look at who he had brought, Marcellus’ eyes went wide. Before the legionnaire could climb down from his horse, Marcellus was upon him with tears in his eyes, hugging and laughing with his old friend.
     “Marcus! My dear brother! What brings you here of all places?” Tears of joy freely flowed down his cheeks into his scraggly beard.
     Marcus couldn’t help but become misty eyed himself. “This boy they call Titus brought me here. He thought I might want to see an old friend.”
     As they turned to go inside the cave, Marcellus paused to look at Titus.
     “I’m sorry Titus, but I must speak with Marcus in private. I will call you in as soon as we are done speaking.”
     Titus of course waited outside by the opening of the cave, quite angry with Marcellus. He was the one who brought this Marcus to him, why couldn’t he be there the whole time? However, he soon forgot his anger as he heard glimpses of their conversation. Old battles were remembered, laughs were had, and tears were shed. Suddenly, Marcus turned serious in the middle of their reminiscing.
     “Marcellus, it isn’t good to live here like this. You're a hero to Rome! You shouldn’t be living in a cave away from what is rightfully yours.”
     Marcellus gulped down the rest of his wine and sighed. “I know you are right, but it’s not all that bad. I was scaring the village people as is.” 
     “So? You earned the right to be a bit crazed. You are Marcellus, the one blessed by Mars! The one they still tell legends of how you were raised by the Wolf Mother herself!” Marcus became so excited that he spilt some of his wine gesturing to the whole world that couldn’t see them. “Yet you spend all your time in a cave with nothing more than the company of an orphaned boy.”
     “Watch yourself Marcus. I don’t know what evil things the people in the village think, but Titus is a good young man. To be quite honest, I would have starved out here if it wasn’t for him taking care of me. He’s a good boy, regardless of the trouble he gets himself into.”
     Marcus sat back down, understanding he crossed his dear friend. “I meant no harm by it, and regardless, that doesn’t change the fact that a living myth should be here as a hermit bound to a cave.”
     “You know those stories to be false. You have met my parents and neither of them look anything like a wolf.” Marcellus chuckled before turning grave. “You know, I still see them in my dreams, Marcus.”
     “Who, dear brother? Your parents? Your enemies?”
     “No, they started looking the same after a while. I speak of our brothers, the ones I couldn’t save from the underworld. When I sleep, the gods taunt me with their visage.” Marcellus poured himself another cup of wine before swallowing it all in one motion.
     “Don’t worry dear brother,” Marcus consoled Marcellus while moving the wine away from him, “We will all see them soon enough.”
     As Marcus was leaving, since Marcellus had fallen asleep happily and full of wine, he was surprised to see the young boy gone. He thought that Titus would've stayed, but paid it no mind and rode off to rejoin his unit. Titus, however, heard all this and got an idea. 
     Over the next few days Titus gathered enough food for a small feast and enough wine to put a horse down for a week. He eventually convinced Marcellus to leave the cave and all his old legionnaire equipment and come eat with him in the shack he had built. It was hardly big enough for the grown man and the boy to occupy at the same time, but Marcellus was just happy to spend time in the company of someone who would share with him some food and wine, away from the echoes of the cave. After Marcellus had too much to drink and fell asleep, Titus carried out his true reason for getting Marcellus away from the cave. Titus left him there, passed out on the ground, and made his way to the cave. Unfortunately for Titus the terrors that Marcellus saw every night woke him up, and he went searching for Titus. He was afraid that his young friend had once again found himself in trouble and figured he should try to find him before he ended up losing a hand or worse. 
     After hours of searching, Marcellus had given up hope and returned to his cave, hoping that Titus would show himself eventually. He was sure that all the food had been gathered under dubious means, but it had been the first time in a while that he had gotten to feast in such a way with company he actually enjoyed. What he found at home stunned him. There was Titus sleeping soundly on the floor. He shook Titus awake and began rebuking him for making him worry so much and left the boy trembling in fear before taking a breath and sitting on his stone bed. After a few moments, his rage was replaced by curiosity as he stared at the poor child.
     “What were you thinking? You must have a good reason for tricking me.” Marcellus said solemnly.
     “I didn’t mean to trick you, Marcellus. I’m sorry.” Titus said through tears.
     “Sorry isn’t an answer. I asked you what you were thinking. So, answer the question.” The old military instructor in him was accidently treating Titus as if he was an unruly soldier.
     Titus could barely speak. “I heard you say that when you slept, you saw the dead. I wanted to see them too.”
     Marcellus gritted his teeth. “You thought, when you slept in this cave you would see my brothers? Are you mad? What makes you think you would see them the way I saw them? Even if you could see them, what made you think you would want to?” Titus stuttered, unable to get the words out but Marcellus was unable to hold back his mercilessness as Titus twitched before him like some kind of wounded prey. “OPEN YOUR FAT MOUTH AND RESPOND, TITUS!”
     Titus sobbed. “My parents! I didn’t want to see your old comrades, I wanted to see my parents!” He continued to stand there, and balled his fist, trying to stop the tears that didn’t seem to end no matter how hard he tried.
     All the anger abandoned Marcellus, and he was left with guilt. “Come, come here Titus, sit beside me.”
     Titus did so, still fighting the tears that fell now into his lap. Marcellus tried to put his hand on Titus’ shoulder, but Titus jumped as if he was afraid of getting his next pummeling.
     “Titus, I know what they say about this cave, but the dead are not here. No matter how many times Sol or Luna passes us, we alone are in this cave.” Titus looked up at him, tears in his eyes. “However, this isn’t a bad thing. Our loved ones are waiting for us, in the fields of Elysium. It’s always hardest for those of us left behind.”
     Titus gave up on holding back the tears and fell into Marcellus. Marcellus awkwardly hugged Titus, not sure what to do with the boy. Eventually he cried himself to sleep, so Marcellus left him in his bed and went out hoping to make amends. He figured the best thing he could do for Titus was rebuild the hovel he stayed in a little better, or at least make it safe enough that when Jupiter rode on the clouds and threw his stupid little tantrums it wouldn’t crush Titus as he slept.
     While Marcellus was working into the morning, arguing with himself how to correctly rebuild the home, Marcus appeared at the cave. He was quite distressed, and urgently woke Titus. 
     “Where is Marcellus? I must find him!” Blood trickled down the side of his head, and he smelled of battle and sweat.
     “I don’t know, he could be at my house if I was to guess, drinking the rest of the wine. What’s so urgent you would come all the way out here again?” Titus asked.
     “We were on the way out of the village when we were suddenly attacked by a Cyclops! They can hold it away from the citizens for now, but I know Marcellus would be able to kill it before it kills anyone else.” Without another word, he jumped onto the back of his horse and sped off in the direction Titus pointed to.
     Marcus eventually found Marcellus, who had turned the small shack into a well-built home. Well, he thought it wasn’t up to the standards he held himself to, but he hoped it was good enough for the boy that had shown him so much kindness. Marcus told him everything he had already told Titus, and instantly his mind cleared. It was like he never left the front lines. As they went by his cave to grab his old armor, he realized his sword was missing. When Marcus told him that Titus already knew about the Cyclops, Marcellus was afraid for what the boy might do. Marcellus cursed Marcus, and they both took off towards the Cyclops. 
     “How was I supposed to know the boy was orphaned by a Cyclops? It’s not as if anyone was going to tell me his village was destroyed by the same beast!” Marcus yelled over the winds as he tried to push the horse past its mortal limits.
     “I don’t care if you didn’t know. If a hair on his head is harmed, I am going to tie you to a rock and throw you into the sea outside my cave. I’m sure Neputne would be more merciful than what I can do to you!”
     Marcus stayed silent. To see Marcellus this angry gave him hope that the old man still had some of his former glory left in him. Maybe they all would live to see this day end. His only hope was that Marcellus was angry enough to kill the behemoth on his own. Otherwise, Titus wouldn’t be the only orphan anymore.
     When they did make it to the battlefield, hurt soldier were scattered around, as those still able to stand circled around the beast keeping it in place. One soldier held an unruly child who was kicking and screaming to let him go. Marcellus jumped off the horse, his anger overshadowed by the relief to see Titus still alive enough to be a nuisance. As he approached, both the soldier and Titus went pale. The soldier looked as if he was looking upon a spirit. Titus figured he was about to be one.
     “Centurion! Join the others and hold the beast until I come! Titus, where is my sword?”
Titus flushed a deep red, that was almost as vibrant as the bruise that covered his left arm as he pointed. Marcellus traced the finger to a shining blade that stuck out from the Cyclops’ calf, as it stomped around trying to smash the soldiers either underfoot or with the leafless tree it used as a club. 
     Marcellus rolled his eyes. “May Minerva grant me the wisdom not to thrash you when I am finished. Marcus, give me your spear. Call your men back. No more roman blood will be spilled today.”
     Marcus gave the order, and everyone started running for cover or dragging their fallen comrades to safety. As Marcellus approached, it was as if his mind was finally clear again. So many nights he spent in a drunken stupor trying to fight past the memories and training that had help him hostage for so long. As he walked forward, he began to see the faces of his fallen brethren again on the faces of casualties that littered the field and those gasping for breath. He began to tear up. Once again, he had failed to save those he loved most. He cried out in pain, so loudly he startled the Cyclops into staring at him alone. 
     “For Rome!” Marcellus screamed a deadly battle cry and hurled the spear at the giant foe. It cut deep into the monsters eye, causing it to thrash about wildly. Marcellus charged forward, dodging it’s mad flailing, eyes fixed upon his sword. As he blinked, his vision turning red, he could have sworn he saw his dead comrades get up and ebb him forward towards glory. He grabbed the swords hilt and ripped it out of the beast, before hamstringing it. The Cyclops fell flat on its face, clawing at the spear still stuck in its eye. Marcellus then ran up the back of the monster and stuck his blade into the skull of the Cyclops, ending it once and for all. As those who saw the great deed started to celebrate. 
     The cheers and applause slowly died, as Marcellus failed to control himself. He hacked, and sliced, and cut, and bit, and punched, and kicked, and it wasn’t until Marcus came and removed him from the dead beast that he started to come back to his senses. Had he been a couple seconds earlier, he might have saved his spear from being used as a club once the head snapped off. Marcellus collapsed into Marcus, hoping that no one had seen the carnage he created. Luckily Titus was too busy having his own wounds looked at, otherwise he would’ve joined in with the villagers in keeping their distance. 
     Titus held his bruised arm close to him, trying not to cry. “Marcellus, are you ok?”
     Marcellus spoke, tears in his eyes, “No, but I will be. Did you see them?”
     “See who? All I saw was you, but I couldn’t see the mark that everyone says you have.” Titus started looking, searching for the people Marcellus was speaking of.
     Marcellus turned back to the battlefield, and the people all excused themselves from the scene. The parents worried that the children would have nightmares. The shop keepers hoped this wouldn't affect business. The men reasoned with themselves this is why they never joined. The children hoped to be like him some day. Marcellus stared at the cyclops, making sure it wasn't getting back up, secretly pissed off there wasn't another. He felt guilt in the deepest pit of his soul, knowing this was going to be one more reason everyone spoke highly of him from a distance. He did his job, why did they fear him for it? No one knew but everyone acted accordingly.
     Marcus put his hand on the shoulder of Marcellus, and he jumped as if the fight had not ended yet.
     “The mark of Mars cannot be seen,” Marcus said as he shook his head. “It only shows itself in the worst of times. It invades the minds of those it claims. It offers no quarter. It’s the reason the general populus worships him, but just like a god, they would prefer he stay on Olympus. Less likely to get killed experiencing what made him so famous.”
     Titus innocently looked at Marcellus’ brow and touched the scar. “Then how did you get this, Marcellus?” Titus asked.
     Marcellus sniffled, then wiped the tears from his eyes. He stood and put his hand on the back of Titus’ head. They started to leave the deadly battlefield, Marcellus nodding to Marcus as they passed. They shared a moment of wordless understanding, before Marcus returned to his duties. Marcellus decided he would return to the cave one last time to leave behind his battle-hardened gear, but leaving it open in case he found himself unfortunate enough to need it again.
     “I’ll tell you about it when we get home.”

***

Message from the author:

Thank you so much for reading this short story! Please follow me on any of my social media platforms, and get ready for next Wednesday's post talking about everything that should be expected with my upcoming book. Leave a comment! What do you think about the story? Would you rather have a paperback version available first, or a kindle version?

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