Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 45

It was a day like any other in the thriving garrison and surrounding town. Troops were marshalled in the morning and a patrol rode out, taking over from the one just returned from a circuit of the regions settlements, farms, and holdings—as usual. Happenings so ordinary in the life of the legion, no one marked this changing of patrols in any way. Why would they? Soldiers were always coming and going, and only those marching off to battle—or returning from one—would warrant any undue attention.

That evening, the first of the returned soldiers took to his sickbed. Again, nothing unusual in that. After all, like every other garrison, Flavia Gallicana maintained a good infirmarium for the benefit of the soldiers who made frequent use of it for one ailment or another. A single large room with several beds and a large cabinet to store herbs and oils and potions of various kinds, this sick house was presided over by Setonius, an impressive young Gaul, and his two able assistants: Marius and Linus.

Again, this first illness went unremarked. Yet, over the next few days seven legionaries were stricken down with the same malady—and all of them had been riding the circuit on patrol. This, of course, was noticed and remarked on—first by Setonius and several commanders, and then by nearly everyone else. Our good healer and his two aides were kept busy flitting from one bedside to another those first days. Well, the infirmarium was soon overtaken as the disease began its spread through the ranks. Setonius quickly rallied aid to have all the afflicted moved to a single wing of one of the barracks, and everyone else moved out. On the sixth morning after the first man was stricken, he died. By then, there were twenty men under the physician’s care. Two died by nightfall, and five more the day after that.

On the seventh day, a runner appeared with word that folk in the surrounding town were falling ill—and all with the same dread signs: raging fever and nausea, followed by sudden weakness and throbbing pain in the head and chest and, lastly, extended fits of coughing and a severe shortness of breath. Often the coughing brought up blood; the vomitus, green with bile, was also spotted with blood, as was the sticky black feces that leaked into their clothing. Those so stricken might linger for days, in this fevered, painful state, fighting for breath. In the end, however, nearly all those so afflicted surrendered to the ravages of the disease and death bore them away. A few, but only a few, rose shakily from their beds and showed some signs of recovery.

Very soon, more than half of those who had ridden out on patrol had sickened—close to thirty men in all, I think. And half of those died within the first three days. The reports we had from the town told the same sad tale: people fell ill and succumbed to this odious death. Often, it was those who had cared for their sick friends and family who were next to fall victim to the dread illness. Setonius determined that it was the plague—but unlike any he knew. He informed Aridius and they summoned all the garrison commanders to our villa and gave them the awful news. I lingered as near to the long table in the dining room as I dared, and caught the pith of it.

“The disease is in the town and the settlements round about. It is swift and it is deadly,” Aridius began bluntly. “Setonius says it is plague, and I fear he is right. If so, we are not going to outrun it.”

They all agreed. But what could they do?

“We may not outrun it,” he continued, “but we may outlast it. I have it that it may be possible to evade the illness by avoiding those who have already been taken ill.”

“How are we to do that?” wondered one of the centurions. “This demon strikes where it will.”

The commanders voiced their agreement. Aridius turned to the physician. “Not so,” Setonius informed them. “I have seen that this disease strikes first those who have been near to the sick and dying, tending them.”

“You’ve been with the sick and dying since the beginning,” Vitus pointed out. “If it is as you say, why haven’t you been stricken down?”

Setonius shook his head. “I don’t know. It may be that it eludes some even as it takes others—just as an arrow will miss one man only to fell the one behind him.” He shook his head. “The problem is we cannot always tell who will fall ill and who will not.”

This set the commanders grumbling.

Aridius called for quiet to allow the physician to continue.

“Listen,” Setonius said, “this is very like what happened in Rome in the time of the Caesars. In that day, when plague would come, those who had relations or homes in the country went there and stayed until the cloud of plague had passed. I am thinking we could do the same.”

“What? Have we estates in the country with great houses to go to?” scoffed one. “Or, would you have us go out into the forest?” wondered another commander, looking to his fellows with a smirk.

“To the forest, yes!” cried Setonius. “And to the farms, the wilderness, the empty places. Go wherever the plague has not yet found purchase.” He looked at the ring of grim faces. “I think it is the only way.”

The idea was discussed but, as Aridius related later, the commanders were wary of removing so many men from the garrison. “If the Saecsens got word that the fortress was undefended, they would surely attack,” complained General Comenius, the senior of the commanders, explaining the main objection. “The garrison would be lost before we could get back to defend it.”

“Stay here and the garrison will be lost to the plague,” the physician insisted. “There is no stopping it.”

Aridius backed his assertion. “It comes down to this,” he declared. “Stay here and we are sure to lose the garrison. Go out and have a hope of keeping it.”

Though the commanders did not relish the idea of leaving the garrison unmanned in this way, they could not find a way around it.

Addressing Comenius, Aridius asked, “How soon can you have the cohorts ready to march as if to battle?”

“By midday,” the general replied confidently, and others concurred.

“Then do it,” Aridius ordered. “Go out, and then separate into small platoons. Find places in the wood and fields to make camp. Take whatever you need for provisions—”

“For how long?” one centurion wanted to know.

“For as long as must be,” Aridius told him. “Until the plague has passed on and it is safe to come back.”

So it was. The first cohorts left the garrison; others followed, marching out in groups of fifty or sixty soldiers with enough supplies to sustain them for ten days. The last of those to leave took Aurelius and Uther with them. I was relieved and happy they went—all the more so because friend Vitus went with them, and vowed to watch over them. Come good or ill, at least they would be in safe hands.

The boys, frightened, heartsick—yet struggling manfully to hide it—stood uncertainly at the gate of the villa with their satchels slung over their shoulders, gazing at their father and me as if for the last time. I pressed one of Brother Theo’s missal books into Aurelius’ hands, saying, “Look here for strength and fortitude when you need it.” He swallowed hard, then embraced me and his father, his eyes damp at the moment of parting. Uther likewise, sniffing back a tear, kissed us and hugged us both—then turned hurriedly away lest we see him crying.

When they had gone, I asked my husband whether we should not also go. “You will be needed to ensure the garrison’s survival once the plague has passed, and—”

Ari was already shaking his head. “I am needed here now. The legate must remain in place and in authority. With most of the legion gone, my position is more important than ever.” He took my hand and looked sadly into my eyes. “But you, dear heart, should leave while you can. You and the priests should go. Stay safe. Those of us who are left will have need of comfort and consolation when this plague has passed over.”

I considered the wisdom of his counsel and rejected it. My duty was clear. “No,” I told him, squeezing his hand in return. “I will not leave. If your place is here, my place is by your side. If you are to stay, then I am staying with you.”

That is what we did. Aridius filled his days marshalling the few soldiers left behind for our protection—sending them out on little errands each day just to get them out of the garrison for awhile. That man strove day and night, often beyond fatigue, shouldering all the duties that normally fell to others.

As for myself, I filled my days in much the same way—taking on any task that needed doing. I rarely ventured beyond the gates of the villa; all my care was for the house and servants. When Nona, our good cook and kitchener, fell to the plague, I saw to the meals and, with my three serving girls’ help, prepared them. We made countless tureens of bone broth and lentil stew for the sick, and more sustaining meals for anyone else who needed to eat.

The plague worsened. Many of those we counted on to maintain the ordered life of the garrison became too ill to work. With some regret and many misgivings, I granted Deidre permission to return to her people; the poor girl was so beside herself with worry about her family, it was cruelty to keep her in the villa. Junia and Jason returned to their homes, promising to come back as soon as the disease abated. Only Tatiana remained by my side—and if I did not already have cause to bless her, I did soon enough. Every aspect of garrison life that was not strictly necessary was abandoned as one soul after another fell to the plague.

I quickly came to know the hateful signs: first came the dry throat and thirst that nothing could satisfy, this was followed by mounting fever that bathed the body in sweat, a booming throb in the head, and the onset of deep lethargy that left the limbs weak and aching. Then came the nausea and vomiting of whatever could be eaten or drunk; often the bowels loosened fouling garments and bedding with a bloody, black ooze that stank to heaven. The sufferer lingered in this way before lapsing into a fevered sleep which often heralded the end. Many who closed the eye on one day did not wake the next. Sometimes, the victim would linger on, groaning and gnashing their teeth for days. For others, the end came more quickly. I even heard of one or two who went to their nightly rest feeling well, but were found the next morning dead in their sleep.

God help us, it was horrific!

Very soon, dealing with the dead became our most pressing problem. Theo and his few priests, who had been ministering to as many of the sick as humanly possible, were also responsible for the Christian burial of the dead as well. Although they strove mightily, the floodtide of death surged over them and mounted high against the church’s stout walls. Those good priests toiled each day and by torchlight far into the night: digging graves, burying the dead—often two or even three family members to a grave. Still, the corpses piled up. The good brothers simply could not inter them fast enough and even the most simple service of prayer taxed the time.

“We cannot allow you to continue like this,” Aridius told Theo one night. “You are killing yourselves, digging graves.”

Gray-faced, swaying on his feet and ready to topple over at the next puff of wind, the priest offered a rueful smile at the absurdity of this remark. I poured a little watered wine into a cup and handed it to him, then passed one to Aridius as they sat for a much needed respite in the courtyard at another grim day’s end. “Ari is right,” I said, pouring a cup for myself. “Listen to your legate. You and your priests have battled beyond all endurance, but you cannot go on like this. It is the sick who need you most right now, not the dead.”

Aridius, nodding in agreement, said, “In normal times, yes, your duty is to bury and bless the dead, to see them carried into their eternal rest. But these are not normal times. Aurelia is right, it is the living who need you now, not the dead.”

A thoughtful silence claimed the courtyard as we sipped our weak wine.

“When did you last sleep?” I asked Theo.

He shrugged. “Yesterday, maybe? The day before?”

“You must sleep tonight,” Ari told him. “And tomorrow morning I will send soldiers to prepare a large pit—”

Theo saw where this suggestion was going and reacted immediately. “A mass grave? Not on sacred ground!”

“A mass grave, yes.” Ari told him. “The soldiers will dig it for you—wide and deep—and wagons will transport the bodies to you.”

Theo wearily shook his head as the legate finished. “I cannot find it in me to like this solution, but neither do I have a better idea.”

“It is the only way,” I added, “and let it serve the living in our need.”

“You will be freed from the digging and the burying,” continued Aridius gently. “This will allow you to perform prayers and service for the dead—”

“And free you to better aid the sick,” I offered.

“Yes, yes,” Theo agreed finally. “It is not a perfect solution, but perfection is not within our reach. Let it be as you say, and we will make the best of it.”

Talk moved on to how many of the lesser details might be worked out, and I left to prepare the evening’s table. The meals were getting ever more modest as the days wore on and it became ever more difficult to secure provisions—or those who could provide them.

One day soon, I thought, this hideous plague will be over and life as we’ve known it will return.

Well, the plague would end right enough, and life would, in time, return. But it would be a life I did not recognize and never would have chosen.

For, only five days after that last meal with our good friend, Aridius fell victim to the plague. It came on in the night and I marked the onset: awakened by my husband’s thrashing about, I touched his back and my hand came away wet with sweat. The poor man was burning with fever. He had kicked off all his bedding and was moaning softly.

“Ari,” I said, giving him a gentle shake, “wake up.”

By way of response, he groaned and gradually opened his eyes. “My head,” he mumbled, wiping sweat from his face. “Why is it so hot in here?”

“You have a fever,” I told him, swinging my legs out of bed. “I’ll fetch some water.”

On my way to the kitchen to fetch a jar and cup, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other without collapsing in despair. We were surrounded by the vile pestilence morning to night and had been for weeks, but I had kept myself to imagine the worst. The doom so many others faced had now arrived at our door and, like all those others, my husband had fallen to the disease.

I flew back to our bed chamber and helped Ari sit up so he could drink. Then I wet a cloth and folded it so he could place it on his brow and help cool himself somewhat. He closed his eyes and slowly went back to sleep; I stayed awake and watched him through the little left of the night, my heart torn between hope and despair.

What were we going to do? What was I going to do?

The next day, he attempted to rally somewhat. “I should go,” he said, throwing off the newly-changed bedding. “There is so to do.”

“All the more reason to give yourself a little time to regain your strength. Rest—at least for a day, my love. If you feel better tomorrow, you can return to your duties and you will return refreshed.”

Neither one of us mentioned plague. We pretended that this was some complaint brought on by overwork and the cares of the garrison, and would yield to rest.

Tomorrow came and went and Aridius did not feel better, did not regain his strength. He grew weaker and the ache in his head spread to his joints; he complained of pain in his knees and throughout his body. He could not eat solid food. After a few bites he would gag and throw it up again. At best, he could but sip a little tepid broth—but at least that was something. And all the time the fever came and went, leaving him cold and shivering—only to return again as hot and fierce as ever.

At midday the third day of his illness, I made a brief foray out of the villa and hurried to the church to inform Setonius, that stalwart man, that the legate had surrendered to the plague. I found Setonius near the door of the infirmarium as two more invalids were carried into the yard. “I will come at once,” he told me, snatching up the bag in which he kept his tinctures and potions at the ready. He went off to tend Aridius, and I went on to inform Brother Theo, who also offered to come at once.

“No, my friend. I did not come to summon you from your duties. I only wanted you to know so that you could pray for him when you offer prayers for the other sick among us.”

“But—” He regarded me with a taut expression.

I could see he was torn between staying to help those before him and running to his friend’s aid. “You are needed here,” I told him, “and Aridius will not thank me for pulling you away from your valuable work her—or you for deserting it.”

“Not even for him?”

I shook my head. “Especially not for him.” Turning away, I started for home once more. “Let it be this way, please.”

“Send word when you can,” he told me. “I must know how he fares.”

“Pray for us, Theo,” I called behind me. “You have the ear of our Good Lord. He hears you, I know.”

I hastened back to the villa and marked how very quiet it was in the garrison town. Ordinarily, the noise of the place reached me as a confused jumble—like that of a burbling brook: a perpetual stream of meaningless sound, a low din that rarely resolved into anything significant. But now that low clamor was gone—along with those who made it.

On my return, I went at once to Ari’s bedside and saw that he was sleeping. I decided to take a little rest myself while I had the chance, and found a comfortable corner in one of the empty chambers where I curled up in a shawl, and was soon blissfully asleep.

I must have slept longer than I knew, because when I rose the sun had sunk low and the shadows in the courtyard were already stretched long. I threw off the coverlet and hurried to Ari’s chamber. He roused himself when I entered the room. “Good,” he said, his voice a dry croak. “You’re here.”

“Don’t talk,” I told him. “I’ll get you some water.”

A jar stood on a tray beside the bed and I poured him a cup and helped him drink it down. When he did, he gave me a weak smile and lay back, his eyes bright with fever.

“How do you feel, my love?” I asked, stroking his hand.

“Much better,” he lied—as if I could not see how utterly wan and waxy his skin had become, as if I could not see how his flesh seemed to hang on him—limp as clothes on a carpenter’s scaffold.

“You do look a little better,” I told him, repaying his lie with a small one of my own.

“I think I could eat something—maybe some more of that bone broth?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll have Tatiana warm some for you right away.”

I hurried to the kitchen which was deserted, but, there was broth still in the big pot so I stirred up the embers and stoked the flame and soon had a enough heat to take off the chill. While the pot warmed, I made up a tray and filled a jar with fresh water, then filled the bowl, crumbling a bit of dried bread into it. By the time I returned to the sickroom, Aridius was asleep once more.

Loathe as I was to rouse him, I nevertheless brought him out of his sleep and sat next to him on the bed and held the bowl while he ate. The poor man was so weary, it was all he could do to keep himself awake long enough to swallow down the food. I spoke to him, telling him all that was being done within the garrison and what I knew about life outside the walls. “One of the generals—Severus, I think—sent a messenger yesterday. The soldier stood outside the walls and shouted up at the gateman. He said that all was well and that their cohort was hale and able to forage for what they required. We need not be concerned for them.” I gave Ari a smile of encouragement. “It appears your decision to send them away has proven a boon, my love. You were right.”

He nodded and slumped back once more. “Good,” he said, closing his eyes once more. “That’s good. . . .”

I left him to his rest and returned to my duties, filling the remainder of the day dealing with the various little emergencies that came my way. I looked in on my husband from time to time—twice rousing him to drink—and at last fell into my own bed tired and vaguely unsettled . . . by the unnatural quiet in the house and garrison . . . by the growing sense of fear that we would soon be running out of necessary food and supplies . . . that the plague was taking too long to dissipate and was instead growing worse . . . and any number of things.

With all this on my mind, sleep was long in coming. I woke again in the middle of the night with a raging ache in my head and a throat that seemed to be on fire.



Back | Next
Framed