Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(231)

“You will see her again,” Quintus said softly, with encouragement. “In the fields of Elysium. You will be waiting for her when she arrives, Lucius. There is no sorrow in that.”

Lucius gave him a weak smile. “What do I do in the meantime until she comes?” he wanted to know. “Shall we drink and gamble to pass the time? If Theo finds out, she will be very angry with me. She does not like gambling.”

Quintus laughed softly, as did Lucius. Women never liked anything that was fun. When Lucius turned back to his sword, using the chisel to clean up what he had already done, Quintus pointed at the sword.

“What have you been doing for weeks?” he asked. “You have worked on that sword constantly.”

Lucius blew on the few slivers of steel that he’d scraped up. Then, he held up the sword, trying to see his handiwork in the weak light of sunset.

“It is a message to my wife,” he said, running his hand along the inscription. “I will die, and this place will be destroyed, but this blade… it will last. It is my hope that those who come after us will find it and pass it along to my wife.”

Quintus held out his hand and Lucius passed the gladius to him. The older soldier carefully inspected the words, softly reading them back.

“My beloved Theodosia –

Crimson and embers, my love for thee,

For eternity will it bind us.

In Elysium will I wait, my heart of fragile stars,

With dreams only of you.”

When he was finished, his gaze lingered on the words as he murmured them over again, repeating them, savoring the beauty. Then, he glanced up at Lucius.

“You should have been a poet, my friend,” he said. “You have the soul of one.”

Lucius smiled faintly. “When my wife and I were courting, I constantly wrote her poems and love notes,” he said. “I always ended them ‘with dreams only of you’. Therefore, when she is given this sword, she will know that my last thoughts were of her. In a sense, it is my last love note to her. It will bring her comfort.”

Quintus was touched by the sentiment. How wonderful to be young and so in love, but how terrible to see it all end this way. He handed the sword back to his friend, unwilling to say what he was thinking; a savage will find that sword and use it. It will never make it to your wife. Perhaps it was his cynical nature bringing those thoughts into his head. He did not want to take away Lucius’ only hope that his wife would someday receive that one last message, the final love poem in a short and sweet marriage that had been full of such things. Biting back his harsh words, he sighed faintly.

“I hope it indeed brings her comfort,” he said simply.

Lucius ran his hand over his sword, the smile fading from his lips. In fact, his expression seemed to slacken considerably, with shadows of sorrow again on his features. After a moment, he kissed the words on the sword softly, gently, as if delivering a kiss to the woman he would never see again.

In his own way, he was kissing her through his words. He knew she would feel his kiss when she read them. He wasn’t content with meeting her again in Elysium; he wanted to hold her one last time, to smell the flowers in her hair and to feel the texture of her skin. But the gods they had prayed to so fervently had denied them the hope they sought. After a moment’s reflection, on a life and love that would soon end, Lucius looked to Quintus.

“I must bury this sword,” he said. “It must be put someplace safe. I do not want the Otadini absconding with it.”

So he does know the reality of what will happen to such a weapon, Quintus thought. He was suddenly seized with the desire to help the man, however futile their efforts might be. Even if they were to die, perhaps something of them… of Lucius… would continue to live. Perhaps their story would be told, someday, and the legend of the sword with Theodosia’s name on it would survive. If it survived, in a sense, then they survived. Deep down, Quintus very much wanted to survive.

“Then let us bury it in the corner of the barracks, under the foundation,” he said. “I do not know how it will be found again but if this fort is ever rebuilt, they will more than likely discover it.”

Lucius nodded, rising weakly. He hadn’t eaten in days and his strength was nearly gone. “It will be rebuilt after we are gone,” he said confidently. “If we could only put the sword between the stones, they would find it more easily. I fear that if we bury it in the earth, it will be forever lost.”

Quintus rose, too, unsteady and wrought with hunger. “Let us hurry, then,” he said. “Our time is growing short.”

Together, they went to the northeast corner of the barracks. It was such a small structure and the others, overcome with hunger and defeat, watched with only mild curiosity as Quintus and Lucius began pulling at stones in the wall, trying to see if there were any stones loose enough to move, something that would create a big enough gap to hide a full-sized gladius. They pulled, grunted, shoved, and even kicked, and eventually they were able to remove four rather large stones from the wall, stones that had been carefully fitted together with clay to hold them together.

But the clay was weak because of the moisture and cold, and it gave way easily. Tossing the stones onto the floor, Lucius eagerly ran his hands along the gap their removal had created. He put the sword in to see if it would fit; it did, but barely. Joy filled him.

“It will fit,” he said. “See? There is enough room.”