You then explained how you’d met on the battlefield, on opposing sides. He was a farm boy who’d been swept up in the conflict.
“He carried a homemade spear and nothing else,” you said regretfully. “His shoes…” You shook your head with frustration. “I instructed him to pick up the sword from one of his fallen comrades. He could barely lift it, his body trembled so.”
You grunted as if remembering the deep injustice of it. I licked my lips and studied the emotions that crossed your face. You were struggling to keep your voice even.
“I told him to play dead,” you said. “I thought he’d retreat with the others, but I found him there later that evening, as if waiting for my return. His own people had razed his land and killed his livestock to prevent us from benefitting from it. His father was dead on the battlefield. He had no other family. There was nothing for him to go back to. He told me this later, of course. Those first few days he said nothing at all.”
You glanced over at me, and is if you wanted my forgiveness, said, “War is an ugly thing, Orlando. It makes you do things you regret for the rest of your life.”
I nodded, feeling very young and sheltered. I’d had trauma in my life, but nothing like that.
You told me how you’d brought him back to the prison camps and took it upon yourself to make sure he was treated well.
“I interfered,” you said simply. “His fate was in my hands. He was put up for auction, and I made sure that he was purchased as a cook for our auxiliary unit. It was better than some of the other jobs for slaves.”
You had that guilty look again. I didn’t ask about the other jobs. I didn’t want to know.
“He was young and quite innocent. I was taken by him early on, but I didn’t act on it. I tried to make him more comfortable in his new life with small acts of kindness. Even though I was, for all intents and purposes, his oppressor, in time he grew to care for me, too.”
You paused there and seemed to recall some loving moment between you. I wasn’t jealous this time, but fearful for you and your past lover. I knew this story had an unhappy ending. Despite the massage, my whole body tensed with dread.
“Because of my father’s ancestry, my mother’s bloodline, and my unique abilities, I was visited by the gods, and told that it was my fate to unite Germania under Roman rule. I was promised every manner of wealth, power, and glory if I could accomplish this feat. And then I was sent to serve under an ambitious Roman governor who was laying siege on the Germanic tribes. He was known for his ruthlessness in battle and his taste for crucifixions in maintaining order among his subjects. I took my lover with me under the pretense of my servant. In this new encampment he assisted the field physician in surgery, and when the occasion warranted, served the men their supper.”
You swallowed and I sensed we were reaching the difficult part of your story. By this time, you’d finished with my feet, and I drew them to me with my arms hugging my knees, just listening.
“I was sent to the Germanic tribes as an ambassador. I did my best to negotiate. The tribes were not happy with their Roman overlords, not only because of the taxes, but also because of the severe measures they took in subduing unrest. I did what I could to tout the benefits of Roman rule, but they saw me as a traitor, much like my father. It was decided I would return to our encampment while they discussed it among the other Germanic chieftains.”
You leaned forward with your elbows resting on your knees and stared at the candles. You seemed to need the courage to continue. I laid a hand on your shoulder.
“When I returned, the Roman governor himself told me my lover had taken ill and died in my absence. I was astonished that a sickness could claim the life of a healthy young man so quickly, so I demanded to see his body. The governor sent me to the doctor, who said that because of the strange nature of the disease and their fear of contagion, they’d burned his remains.”
You exhaled and I felt the tension vibrating in my bones. Even the candle flames stopped flickering.
“I had a keen sense of smell, so I hunted down his body. They’d buried him not far from the encampment. And it was not ashes that I found.”
I knelt beside you and took one of your hands in mine. Your other hand pinched the bridge of your nose. I’d never seen you cry before—it wasn’t something you allowed yourself to do.
“They’d brutalized him. Repeatedly. He died, in agony, from those injuries.”
I froze, willing myself not to imagine it. The heartbreak you must have felt at finding him that way. The protector in you must have blamed yourself. I wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, but it seemed better to let you mourn in silence.
“From that day on, I planned my revenge.”
You then told me that when you met with the chieftains again, you laid out a plan of sabotage. You would spread rumors of a rebellion in a nearby territory, then lead the governor’s legions along a narrow path into a forest where the Germanic tribes would be waiting to ambush them.
“The Romans tried to flee, but I’d set another trap,” you said dispassionately. “They were caught like fish in a net between a bog, a trench, and an earthen wall. We slaughtered them all. No one escaped my wrath, not even the physician who might have been able to save some of the wounded.”
My whole body grew cold at your admission. In your mind, that was justice. Their lives for that of your lover. You didn’t necessarily like being the one to carry it out, but you didn’t shy away from it either.
“Did you lose your body in that battle?” I asked quietly.
You glanced over at me. Your hard eyes softened only a little. “No, I didn’t. The general died on his sword, as did one of his commanders. The casualties were… overwhelming. Twenty thousand men in all. When news reached the emperor of Rome, the same one who’d taken me and my brother hostage, he was rattled. The Romans were a religious people, and they took this defeat as a warning from the gods. Meanwhile the gods themselves were furious with me. I was meant to lead the Romans to victory. With my royal bloodline, I’d have likely been installed as the governor of the Germanic tribes. My path had been determined since birth, and in one decisive act, I’d dashed their plans to bits.
“After some deliberation, my punishment was decided. I was to dwell in the forest where I’d led my men to slaughter, battling the reanimated corpses of those I’d killed, day after day, for an eternity. No sooner had I resurrected from my own injuries than I was confronted with a demon-eyed Roman soldier clamoring for my blood. That was where I learned the many vulnerabilities of the human body. And the nature of my Shade Vale made it so that I could not escape.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What’s a Shade Vale?”
“Across the earth, there are places where the human and spirit realms intersect, where the spiritual energy is very concentrated. Most of the cradles of civilization have at least one Shade Vale contained within them. The gods use them as sites for interrogation and punishment, where spirits are bound to human forms and tortured. My massacre actually created a Shade Vale, convenient in some ways.”
