Marcus of Duros

Author's Note:

Hello Everyone,

As usual my ambitions to get you the next chapter promptly failed horrifically. I find that if I am being honest, I have very few excuses. Certainly writer's block could be a valid one, but it's not quite sufficient. For my lag in getting you the next installment which many of you were looking forward to, I apologize.

Please note that I find your feedback which you submitted via email or comments

extremely

helpful when I experience writer's block, and while I don't respond to any of these comments or suggestions, each one is considered carefully and given consideration when I am writing.

Sincerely,

Hawkeye

******

The dream came to Marcus in the early morning, as it always did.

He was inland, on the jungle campaign he had been deployed on just a year after graduating from the war college.

The mist was thick, so thick you could scoop it up with a bowl and pour it out again. Visibility was a joke. He could only see a meter in front of him, and the screams of combat echoed hauntingly around him as the mist swallowed up nearly all signs that a furious battle was being fought there in the shadow of the jungle canopy.

Realizing he had been separated from his unit, Marcus rushed forward to where he had last seen his sergeant. Tripping, he was flung onto his back, his heavy rifle flying off into the mist as his hands lost their hold. Winded slightly from the fall but unhurt thanks to his thick armor, he looked over to see what had tripped him up.

Turning, Marcus was confronted by the body of his sergeant.

The man's helmet had been smashed off and lay by his side. His face was nearly indistinguishable, the left side of his skull having been caved in by some blunt weapon. The right side of his face was contorted in a pain filled grimace, and although he was clearly dead, blood still dripped from the awful head wound. It must have only been seconds since he had been killed, as Marcus had seen him upright only moments ago through a gap in the fog.

Marcus felt terror grip him as he looked frantically into the mist for any sign of his comrades. Screams, the ringing of sword blades, and the crack of rifles still echoed all throughout the jungle, but Marcus could see nothing. His sergeant had been the last person he had seen, and now with him dead Marcus had no idea where to go.

Suddenly a figure rose up through the mist only feet from Marcus, as if he had been laying down, covered by the fog.

It was one of the enemy; a revolutionary guerrilla fighter. His body was marked by cuts from a sword, probably the sergeant's. His bloody face was twisted in a pain filled sneer. In his hands he gripped a large rock, with bits of flesh and hair still clinging to it. At some point he had probably carried a rifle, but as revolutionaries were not always extraordinarily well equipped it was likely that he had run out of ammunition.

Realizing he was not alone in the mist, the young soldier raised the rock above his head and charged at Marcus.

Startled, Marcus moved to raise his rifle, but found his hands were empty, his weapon having flown free of his grip when he tripped over his fallen sergeant. Reaching over his shoulder for his sword, Marcus struggled with the scabbard. His hands were slick with blood and sweat and the hilt slid through his grip several times. Finally, just as the guerrilla was bringing the rock down towards his head, Marcus's sword sprang into his hand. Thrusting quickly, Marcus caught the man in his chest, the blade plunging straight through and out his back.

The guerrilla lost his grip on the rock and fell forward, his body landing atop Marcus's. Flailing furiously to get out from under his dying adversary, Marcus pitched them both sideways until it was he who was on top. Looking down, he found that the guerrilla he had taken to be a young man was not as old as he had previously thought.

It was a boy, no older than thirteen. Although tall, his face was still young, and was now scrunched up in pain. Tears fell freely from his eyes as blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. Looking down Marcus saw that his sword was still buried deeply in the boy's chest.

With a start Marcus realized that he had missed the heart, and had only pierced one of the boy's lungs. The guerrilla was dying, but slowly and painfully; drowning on his own blood.

Horror gripped Marcus and tears pricked his own eyes. Pulling his sword free, the boy groaned pitifully, prompting Marcus's unshed tears to stream freely down his face. Aligning his sword just above the heart, Marcus looked down at the boy one last time. The two made eye contact, and in the brief moment they looked at each other, Marcus could see all of the boy's pain and anguish. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Marcus could bear it no more, and pushed his sword downwards with a strangled sob.

The boy died in moments, but his eyes remained locked on Marcus's until the last breath of bloody air bubbled from his lips. Falling to the ground, Marcus sat beside the boy, sobbing openly as the empty gaze of his sergeant looked on...

"Marcus!" A woman's voice cried out from the mist.

"Marcus! Wake up!"The voice cried out again desperately.

Marcus awoke with a gasp, finding Chloe kneeling beside him, shaking him with both hands. As his eyes met hers he took note of her expression; panicked and fearful.

"What is it? What's wrong Chloe?" Marcus asked, his voice thick from sleep.

"You were having a nightmare Marcus. You were tossing and turning and moaning horribly. I didn't think I'd ever be able to wake you up! Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright, just a bad dream that's all."

"It didn't seem like a regular bad dream to me Marcus." The concern in her voice increasing.

"I'm fine Chloe, trust me."

"Marcus are you sure? Do you want to talk about it or anything?"

"No, I'm just going to take a shower, it was almost time to get up anyway. It's nearly six o' clock." Marcus said as he looked at the chronometer on the wall.

"Well," Chloe said haltingly, "I guess I'll go start breakfast, since you did win your bet last night."

As she finished speaking she grinned, hoping to coax a smile from Marcus. She could see that his eyes were tired and bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept at all. Instead of a genuine smile, the smile she received didn't reach his eyes.

"Whatever you feel like making Chloe. Just nothing too extravagant, I don't have much of an appetite this morning."

"Alright Marcus, I'll think of some-"

Chloe stopped speaking abruptly as she realized her words were falling on deaf ears. Marcus hadn't waited for a response, instead he had walked right into the bathroom and closed the door.

She was startled by his drastic change in behavior. He had never before walked out when she was still speaking, in fact he had been a superb communicator. As much as he insisted that he was fine, and the dream meant nothing to him, everything in the way he was behaving seemed to indicate that it bothered him greatly. Worse than that, she had no idea how to help him, and he absolutely refused to acknowledged that anything was out of the ordinary.

Climbing out of bed and walking over to where her robe hung on a peg by the door, she wrapped herself in it and headed towards the kitchen to begin their breakfast. She was completely at a loss for what to make. Marcus's declaration that he was not particularly hungry was another concerning deviation. She had never before seen him shy away from a large meal, making his pronouncement of a diminished appetite all the more evidence to the contrary that everything was alright.

Remembering what Danny had said the previous day, Chloe recalled that even though she felt the best way to help Marcus would be to ask about it, Danny had said not to. He had said that Marcus would talk about what was bothering him when he was ready, and to ask him before he was ready would only cause him pain.

Less on edge now that she had a plan, she began to look around their newly stocked pantry for something light for breakfast as per Marcus's request.

Inside the bathroom Marcus was kicking himself. As he spoke with Chloe, tears had pricked his eyes and he felt the moisture begin to well up uncontrollably. He felt terrible that he had had to cut her off and hastily retreat into the bathroom. It was embarrassing enough that he was so affected by the dream, it was another thing entirely to let his wife, who had only known him for a couple days, watch him cry. How ridiculous would she think him. Marcus Crassus, Battalion Commander of the Durosian Legion, a highly decorated and experienced soldier, brought to tears by a simply dream.

As Marcus began to bathe he reflected on what was really bothering him. To be sure the dream brought to the surface all of the heartache and pain from that day that he had desperately tried to push beneath the surface, but it was more than that. To him it was as if the killing of that one boy all those years ago stood for all those he had killed in his career, multiplying the pain exponentially. But whereas before when he could brush the feelings aside with ease and continue on with his day with a mental shrug, now there was someone who was concerned about him, and would not be content to shrug it off.

Marcus felt certain that Chloe would not let his silence on the matter continue. Although he had tried to convince her otherwise, he was sure by the look in her eyes that she hadn't believe a word of it when he said he was fine. She would most likely keep asking until she got a satisfactory answer.

Discussing his emotions with her; however, was absolutely out of the question. Naturally if they pertained to her or their burgeoning relationship, then he could discuss it freely. Things that she knew nothing about, and had never experienced though? Those were a different matter. She would never understand what it felt like to kill another soldier, someone who was simultaneously as foreign as a stranger, yet as intimately related to him as a brother.

Finishing his shower, he toweled himself off and brushed his teeth. Walking out into their bedroom he looked around for any sort of chore he could do to consume time. Anything that would postpone the moment when he had to walk into the kitchen and lie to her face again.

Moving around the room he picked up their clothing they had discarded hastily last night and put it in his dirty laundry hamper. Deciding that the sheets were probably too dirty to be used again, especially if last night's activities became the norm, he threw those too into the hamper. Pulling out fresh sheets, he remade the bed and fluffed their pillows. Finding nothing else to do, he went to his dresser and pulled on his uniform, spending more time than was strictly necessary doing up the buttons and clasps. Finally, with nothing else to do in the bedroom, he looked at the chronometer.

He had only burned 20 minutes, shower included.

Sighing inwardly, Marcus made his way towards the kitchen.

******

Fortunately, Marcus's fears turned out to be baseless, as Chloe didn't ask him about his dream again.

The breakfast she had opted to make was a simple but appetizing oat porridge. To make the thick oatmeal more exciting she had mixed in cut strawberries, blueberries, and bananas. After they finished eating she held his hand as he told her the ins and outs of the legal proceedings they would be attending later in the morning.

"So since it's a capital case all the Lords will be in attendance. They'll be the ones in charge of the trial. First they'll read the charges against the accused and then they'll ask probing questions after which the man will be required to answer to the charges and present his own version of what happened. The Lords will then call witnesses to the crime, both on the side of the people and the side of the accused.

The witnesses for the people will be asked about what they saw that night, and then the accused is allowed to ask them questions about their testimony, but only pertinent questions about the events of the night. If he starts to ask questions that aren't pertinent, or tries to intimidate the witnesses he won't be allowed to ask any more questions. With me so far?"

Marcus paused for a moment, not wanting to overwhelm Chloe with the amount of information he was throwing at her. He wasn't sure if women were taught the intricacies of court procedure at the forum, but it would surprise him if they did.

Only commanders and captains were given the specific right to attend the trials, all other ranks had to fill the galleries after the senior officers, and space was often limited. Women were not allowed to attend without their husbands, and many men preferred to leave their wives at home in order to increase their odds of being able to get a seat. For this reason most women were forced to get their information about trials second hand.

"Yes, I'm with you." Chloe answered.

She had been stroking Marcus's palm with her fingers as he spoke, her eyes focused on it intently as she listened to him talk.

"Don't worry," she continued, looking up and smiling at him, "if I get lost I'll say so, okay?"

"Alright. So, after the people's witnesses are called, the accused gets to bring witnesses on his behalf, only this time they can also be character witnesses in addition to witnesses to the crime or his alibi. The Lords ask them questions just as they did with the witnesses for the people. Once the Lords have finished asking questions, the accused gets to issue a closing statement which outlines his argument and may refute what the opposing witnesses claimed and things like that. After he's finished, the Lords will tell the jurors to come down to the jurors' chamber and reach a verdict."

"You're a juror right?" Chloe asked as Marcus finished.

"That's right. All the commanders of the Legion who aren't on campaign are required to attend and be jurors. Basically we sit in a special box and listen carefully. Then when the Lords call us we go into a private room for a while and discuss the case. In order to get a conviction, or a judgment of 'not guilty' we have to have a consensus of more than half, so if there are only six commanders present we have to have four votes to decide the case. If there are twelve, we have to get a consensus from seven, and so on."

"What happens if you decide he's guilty?"

"Well the only punishment for premeditated murder in Duros is death, so he would be executed. He would get the choice of how he died though. He could choose any reasonable method of execution he desired, but the one most soldiers sentenced to die choose is called 'death by combat'. Essentially, what happens is that at the end of the trial when the verdict has been read and the sentence of death is decided, the crowd in the courtroom gets to pick the executioner. He's usually one of their officers, like a lieutenant or a captain, and he will go up against the condemned in one-on-one combat with swords. It's actually a pretty big event, and everyone who can goes to the arena in the war college where they hold the war games to watch the execution."

"But isn't that a huge risk for the one the crowd chooses?" Chloe asked, horrified that anyone would willingly fight an armed murderer with nothing to loose.

"Well it is a little bit, especially if the convicted man is a good swordsman, but there are also six policemen armed with swords in the arena as well. If it looks like the man the people chose isn't doing well they step in and take over."

"What do you mean 'take over?'" Chloe asked suspiciously.

"Well... lets just say it's hard to fight off six men at once."

Chloe snorted and rolled her eyes. Evidently she found this honorable method of execution to be anything but.

"Roll your eyes if you want, but most of the men in the Legion share the idea that execution is disgraceful. To them it's much more preferable to die as a result of some sort of combat."

"But it's still execution Marcus. You're going to die in the end no matter what. It seems ridiculous to me that an officer would risk his life and go into the arena with a man who knows he's going to die and intends to take one of them with him. Seems little better than a gladiatorial spectacle. Besides, if they think that execution is so disgraceful, they shouldn't have done something terrible enough to be executed in the first place."

"Well... I suppose you may be right. Either way, it is what it is, and it's unlikely to change."

Looking towards the clock, Chloe changed the conversation.

"Well, it's only nine o' clock. Jarrod said he was coming at eleven right?"

"Mhm."

"That leaves us two hours. What shall we do Marcus?"

Chloe started twirling her long hair, smiling coyly at Marcus in what he imagined was her attempt at blatant seduction. He had to admit, even though she was clearly milking it, she was awfully cute. As she stood up and walked over to his side of the table he followed her with his eyes. She was only wearing the thin robe she had thrown on earlier, and it was made of such fine fabric that it was nearly see through. A fact to which Marcus was not oblivious.

"How about... you come shower with me and wash my hair?" She murmured quietly in his ear.

"I already showered today."

"I wasn't there though, and showers are more fun with two." She said, winking at him. "So? You coming or not?"

"Maybe." Marcus said, shrugging apathetically.

Chloe turned suddenly on the balls of her feet and began walking towards the hallway that led to their bedroom. As she walked she put an extra sway in her hips, knowing that he was watching her as she went.

"I think you meant 'yes, of course Chloe.'" She said, glancing behind her and catching him in the act.

Chloe left Marcus sitting at the table without waiting for an answer. She knew he wouldn't be far behind. Walking into the bathroom she busied herself with checking the shower temperature while she waited for him. Sure enough, he poked is head around the door only a minute later.

"Ohhh, so you want to take a shower with me after all, hmmm Marcus?"

"Yes, of course Chloe." He said, grinning at her as he opened the door completely and stepped in.

"Well, how about we start with you helping me out of this robe?"

Marcus wasted no time in removing it. Untying the knot at her waist that held the flimsy fabric in place, he let the front fall open. Reaching through the part in the robe his hands found her hips and began caressing upwards. Trailing his fingers up the sides of her stomach he touched her slowly, relishing the softness of her skin. Reaching her breasts he brushed their undersides with the palms of his hands, skimming teasingly over her nipples with his thumbs. Finally reaching her shoulders, he pushed the robe off and down her arms, pulling her into a soft kiss as the robe fell to the floor.

After several minutes Chloe began to remove Marcus's clothes, desperately trying not to break the kiss as she did. Irritatingly, buttons that were difficult to undo with both hands were rendered almost impossible with just one hand, as the other was being used to hold Marcus to her. Remembering that his clothes were clean and freshly pressed, she broke the kiss and folded them neatly, setting them on the chair that sat just inside the door to the bathroom.

Finally naked, Chloe pulled Marcus into the shower with her until she could feel the warm water run down her back. Folding him into a wet hug she began to kiss his neck, hoping to coax more excitement out of him.

Though he seemed excited to be in the shower with her, the usual indicator of his arousal was not rising to the occasion. She suspected it had little to do with her, and much more to do with his dream, but as he still wouldn't discus it, Chloe figured she would leave it for the time being. As Marcus began playing with her wet hair she recalled her request.