There was a brief moment of silence, when suddenly—
"Huup!"
Rainer raised himself to his feet and dusted himself under Kotys' curious but cautious stare.
Rainer smiled and reached for Kotys with a hand.
Kotys' brow furrowed slightly.
"What is it?"
Rainer rolled his eyes, smiling confidently.
"Give me your spear and shield, soldier. This miracle needs to build up some muscle memory before the morning."
Kotys looked confused; however, before he could clarify, Rainer's stomach growled like a tired bear.
Rainer winced and chuckled awkwardly.
"Right! Also return to camp and get me some grub before I fall unconscious again from starvation. I'm as hungry as a corpse!" He requested, caressing his stomach with a wan smile.
Kotys' mouth fell partly open as he looked at Rainer with a slightly disturbed expression.
–––
Main tent.
A lady stared up into nothingness with hard, emotionless eyes. Her stately curves a source of envy beneath the toga; the picture of the Roman womanhood, perfectly etched upon a terracotta oil lamp on the table.
The lone yellow flame cast a wan, but enduring light that brightened the center of the wide functional tent. Beside the lamp lay stacks of parchments and papyrus scrolls; and below, a hand as hard and gritty as granite held a reed pen, scrawling upon a parchment with swift, sharp strokes.
The faint sounds of friction reverberated like a fading eulogy in the dim silence, growing slower and heavier until the hand seized, trembling.
The reed pen fell, and the hand rose to caress the battle-worn face of a warrior.
The lamp weakly cast its light upon dark eyes, sunken and weary.
It was the Camp Prefect, Alexios Arenius Kyriakos, Commander of an elite Cohors Equitata Milliara comprising 800 auxiliary infantry and 240 auxiliary cavalry.
His hand shifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he sighed heavily.
"Why did you have to die, Centurio Vibius?" He silently muttered.
"Lord Praefect!"
One of the tent guards called from beyond the goat skin flap.
"Optio Commius of the Atrebates seeks audience!"
Alexios glanced up at the tent's opening, sighting the familiar glint of Commius' helmet.
He drew a begrudging deep breath and sighed, then he leaned back slightly on his chair, comporting himself.
Soon, his face became stoic and unreadable.
"Enter!"
–––
*Crunch!* *Crunch!*
Kotys paced down the sandal-tested path between neatly spaced rows of doused but steaming campfires and white tents. The strong smell of tanned leather hung yet in the air, even when the smell of smoke and horse dung had receded under the enduring night draft.
He walked, eyes distant and lowered, seemingly deep in thought with his lips slightly pursed.
A memory flashed before him, of him sparing the stranger in human skin; and then his lips curved up slightly in a wry smile as a self-depreciating laugh rumbled up his chest.
"I am daft!" He muttered, shaking his head with a cynical smile. "What do I intend to gain from him that I would go to such lengths?!"
He sucked in a deep breath and calmed himself.
'I have already made myself out to be his ally. Father won't like it but there's no going back. I will be his—friend for now, and see where this goes.'
"You there!"
A voice called, snapping him from his thoughts. He stopped and looked down an intersecting path.
Along the path came two soldiers with spears and oval shields, and although the moon was up, beaming its gentle light. The touches they carried overruled her brightness, bathing them and the ground around in an orange hue.
One of the soldiers, unlike him, was older, and his steady scrutinizing eyes, which peered beneath his helm spoke of his experience on watch duty.
However, it was the younger of them, a tall youth of similar age to Kotys who spoke.
"State the tessara, pedite!"
He challenged as they came to a stop just eight paces away, weapons held at the ready.
The tessera was a password given out to assigned guards who ensured security at the camp; primarily against infiltrations.
Sentries and guards could challenge anyone approaching by asking for it. If the person failed to respond correctly, they could be detained or even attacked.
Kotys stared at the younger one for a while, his intense eyes boring into the soldier's.
"...Togo, we were both handed the tessera together."
Togo tilted his head slightly, eyes thoughtful, but he nodded.
"True. I also know that you have joined ranks with the daemo—"
Kotys' gaze hardened.
"–Stranger." Togo amended and tentatively went on. "I... needed confirmation that you have not been eaten. The soldiers, they say daemons can eat us and take our skin."
The older soldier turned to Togo with an involuntary, appalled gasp.
Kotys let out an aggravated sigh, stabbed his spear on the ground before bringing out a small wooden tile to show them the password.
"Here it is. Glad now?!" He snarked.
Togo looked at the tile and nodded. But then he turned hesitant, attracting a swift, frustrated glare from Kotys.
"You might still be something else inside Kotys—"
Kotys took a hard step toward him, pointing toward the camp entrance.
"Togo! He is outside! If it is confirmation you desire, then go to him! Perhaps then, you can discover if he wears the skin of others for yourself!"
With that, Kotys drew out his spear and marched on with an exasperated huff.
Both were left standing, stupefied, but then, Togo looked at his partner.
"S-should we see—"
The older one gave Togo a glancing smack off the back of his head.
"Fool boy! We have a designated area! I-I would also wish to live on in years!" He scolded with a stutter. "Ahem! Let us continue our patrol."
Togo wasn't bothered by the smack; he had a helmet and felt nothing. He simply nodded. "You are right."
They both silently walked on, their touches illuminating the night.
–––
Commius walked into the tent, his lorica segmentata catching the lamplight. On his arms was a stack of parchments.
"From the Librarius, Lord Praefect."
He said, coming forth to place the written documents from the cohort's clerk on the table.
Alexios' placid eyes went up from the parchment to Commius.
"I did not know the Librarius was also wounded from the battles of the day... That you had to bring his workings to me yourself."
The military clerk didn't join the siege of the garrison fort; it wasn't his task, and they both knew it. Although they were forced to withdraw on two occasions they were not short enough on soldiers to require the camp's military clerk at the front.
Commius stiffened.
"Er, ahem! Lord Praefect, I w-was just on my way here and sought to do him a favor."
Alexios raised a curious brow.
"A report?"
"Yes, Lord Praefect. A general report."
Alexios's brows creased slightly, a hidden pain surfacing in his eyes.
"This was Vibius' task..."
Commius blinked and looked down guiltily as a heavy silence settled.
"The Chief Centurion fought bravely, Lord Praefect." Commius softly consoled.
At that, Alexios' eyes hardened, and they went up in search of Commius', but Commius dared not meet them.
"How would you know this when you were back at camp... strangling my sick slave to death."
Commius paled and straightened, and he quickly turned toward Alexios to reject the accusation. However, upon meeting eyes so unwaveringly confident and lethal that they dared him to deny it—He paused, and gulped back the words he had sought to spew.
Alexios looked away with his lips twitching in disgust.
"He was sick, yes. Assailed by a fever, but that wasn't what killed him. I knew at first glance, my medicos needn't inform me."
Beads of sweat had begun to gather upon Commius' forehead as Alexios' words stacked upon his head like bricks.
Alexios shook his head, seething in disbelief and he glared up at him.
"Your sadistic tendencies over slaves have gone too far! To the point when you dared strangle mine during the noon assault! A battle where Centurio Vibius died without his Optio!" Commius flinched, trembling under the severe reprimand.
"By doing this, you have killed your centurion. Your punishment is...heavy."
Alexios darkly intoned and Commius shut his eyes in resignation.