A Brother Is Found……
The exiled legion answered Thryms call and took the field to fight in his name. After scouting the battleground it was decided to fortify the highest point; a desolate hill facing a wide clearing. It did not take much to convince Titus of the tactical advantages of this newly found asset, and with a quick point of the master engineers’ finger the marching force had found its home. Site plans were drawn, ramparts were erected, and magnificent siege engines were hauled by tamed exotic beasts. As day turned into night the army settled in.
The next morning as the light of dawn broke through the night the alarming sound of a bullhorn resonated throughout the entire camp. The legion awoke from its slumber in a sudden panic. Swarms of armed men heed its call and stumble out of the barracks with puzzled looks. Calus jumps out of his quarters just in time to see armed guards gathering atop the northern wall. He hurriedly joins them.
“What do you see brothers!?” he asks while struggling to catch his breath.
“Someone approaches commander. He may be one of ours.” The watchmen point towards the horizon. Calus squints his eyes and barely makes out a masked legionnaire in a purple tunic walking towards the fortification with great conviction.
He turns to his side and is greeted by Titus, now bearing the same puzzled expression as everyone else. He looks at Calus and shrugs. “Everyone is accounted for. We all retired after the walls were erected.”
“Could it be Mouth? He wears a similar mask.” Calus replies in a desperate tone. The two men stare into the horizon seeking answers.
Calus loses his patience and shouts into the distance. “MOUTH!” The masked legionnaire continues to approach the fortification in a steadfast manner. Upon reaching the front gates he abruptly stops and delivers a crisp military salute. “Open the gates!” Calus sheathes his sword and descends from the wall to meet the solitary legionnaire.
The gates are slowly opened and the legionnaire steps forward. Calus stands firm while a multitude of plots and schemes unfold within his mind in horrific ways. He firmly tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword as he cautiously steps toward the wandering legionnaire. Before Calus can say anything the lone legionnaire speaks in a familiar language only known to the two brothers. “He viajado por mucho tiempo. Donde esta el alcohol?”
Titus’s eyes widen in excitement. “He must be from one of our outposts in Hispania.” Before Calus can object to the ridiculous idea Titus and the stranger embrace in a brotherly hug. Titus leans in with one arm wrapped around the wanderers’ shoulder. “You must be exhausted, let’s have a drink!” Calus stares at the two with a dumbfounded expression as they both walk away with a jubilant group of legionnaires trailing behind.
The following morning Calus awakes to find a group of disheveled soldiers laughing and exchanging stories around a withering camp fire. Calus stands at the center of the group, cross armed and assertive. “So about our guest yesterday…where is he?” The soldiers look at each other in bewilderment, some scratch their heads while others pretend not to hear. “What…was…his…name..?” Calus demands. His eyes darken with outrage.
Titus shouts from within his quarters “Dickus!”
Calus spins toward his voice “Who!?”
Titus replies “Dickus Minimus…or Minimus Dickus…I don’t remember!”
Calus shakes his head as he walks away. He returns to his quarters and slams the door to the muffled sounds of laughter.