Domina Victrix

Chapter 14: 21 AD, Emessa and Syria

Victoria filled another tray with clean instruments and carried it to the exam area in the infirmary tent. Casualties had trickled in throughout the day but the workload was manageable. Capsarii such as Crispinus and Longinus would give first aid on the field and return as many men to duty as possible. More serious, non-ambulatory casualties would be collected after the battle subsided and would be treated on-site, then transported back to camp where medicii such as Lysias and Demetrius would follow up.

"How's it going out there?" she heard Lysias ask one man.

"We're getting it done," he responded.

Victoria collected a tray of bloody instruments and took them to a basin of hot, soapy water to wash. As she stood at the table scrubbing scalpels and knives she heard a horse gallop down the company street. A man shouted, then someone else whooped and cried out.

"Roma, victor! Rome, victorious!"

Her heart skipped as she kept scrubbing and laid the cleaned instruments out in order to be wiped with vinegar. She wanted to run to the parade ground to see the army return and catch sight of her father in his hour of triumph, but knew that Lysias would consider it a lack of restraint and discipline. The sound of cart wheels and horses outside signaled a rush of more wounded. Verus came in, looking for her.

"Victory, we've got surgery cases coming."

"We're ready," she said.

Bearers lifted a man onto the exam table. Someone had already removed his armor and his injury was obvious, a slashed right arm. Demetrius looked over the bloody trench in the flesh, checking for dirt and foreign objects. There were none, nor were any veins or arteries cut. He cleaned the wound and showed Victoria where to start stitching. She threaded a needle and set to work.

"It doesn't have to be pretty," Lysias snapped. "Just hurry."

Victoria focused on the arm and made her way down the wound.

"If I do this right, it won't scar so badly," she said.

"You must be Little Victory," the man said.

"Uncle Lucius thinks so," she said.

"Victory!" he shouted and pointed her out to the men around him, jostling his arm as he did so. "The Lady Victory, right here."

"If I'm a goddess, I command you keep still," Victoria said.

He laughed and shouted again. "Hail, Lady Victory!"

Others picked up the cheer, and turned it into a chant. The fist-pumping, stomping, and clapping spread to the outside, where men pounded shields, pots, or anything else that could make a noise.

"Hail Rome!"

"Hail Caesar"

"Hail Antony! Ave Domina Victrix! Hail, Lady Conqueror!"

Lucius left the cheering behind and entered a tent containing Paulus and three other prisoners. One of them he recognized as another deserter from the Italian Band. Lucius pointed him out and guards jerked him to his feet and herded him to a frame next to Paulus. Lashed into place, both men glared at Lucius. Of the three Antonius brothers, Lucius was the strictest disciplinarian, and the most showy, with the Antony love of blooded horses, flashy uniforms, and a retinue of staff officers trailing his every move. The men hated him on all accounts and the feeling was mutual. The deserter glared at Lucius and worked up to spit at him. Lucius drove his fist in the man's face.

"We'll dispense with the small talk and get right to the point," he said. "Neither of you are citizens, so I'll give you the choice. Tell me what I want to know, and you can take your chances in the arena. Otherwise, you'll be feasting birds on a cross."