Part one


Well, here goes nothin’. At last I’ve sucked in my gut, pulled up my boot straps and taken 
the plunge, posting a piece of fanfiction of my own. I would love to hear what you think, but 
please, this is my first story ever, so please be gentle. 

Disclaimer: The gang don’t belong to me…not yet anyway, so any infringement is 
unintentional.
So, without further a do. Rattle your dags, and get reading already!! 




Clarus

By Kylie Coleman-Tucker.



“Tonight, my gentle listeners, we speak of an emotion which can truly be as debilitating as a 
swift bullet to the head. 
What, you ask, could such an emotion  be? Revenge, hate, love? 
Perhaps. But tonight I speak of guilt. We are all guilty of one crime or another.  Theft, 
adultery, life, death. Or perhaps our guilt lies within a more subdued, more potent cause. 
Perhaps the inability, for whatever reason, to fulfil our parental duty to protect our children. 
This would certainly be but one of the less rapturous cases, would it not?  
Does your past haunt your everyday. No matter how many fresh starts you make, lovers you 
take, cites you run to, or people you flee. Like so much baggage you carry your guilt through 
the years, wherever you go, it faithfully follows. It wakes you at night, goading your slumber 
with the screams of innocents, pleading eyes captured within your soul for all eternity. 
You lay awake this very moment, surmising yet again, what you could have done differently, 
or what you may not have done at all.
Have your actions reaped consequences with which you can no longer bare? Perhaps your 
guilt is a secret, threatening to tear your family apart at the barest mention?  Or perhaps it is a 
secret even untoward yourself, locked tightly away in the far reaches of your mind, denied 
the airing for your own cowardly heart to see. 
Does your guilt pain your heart. Does it sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, churning as you 
recollect upon your crimes? Whatever the case may be, you will not sleep well tonight.
My children, I the Nightcrawler, am here for you, call me, tell me your secrets. Tell me of 
your guilt? I know you are indeed guilty...for I know all.”

Music replaced the haunting voice coming from the car radio. Nick irritated at the obvious 
taunt from his sire, reached over and flicked it off. 
“You’d think he could have been a little less subtle.” He said sarcastically.
“Well, it’s definitely not his usual ambiguous style, but then maybe…” Natalie gestured with 
her hand and fell silent as she sat in the front passenger seat, leaning an elbow against the 
door.
“But what?” Nick asked glancing toward her. Natalie took a deep breath and let it out before 
she answered.
“ Believe me, I know, that nine times out of ten he’s trying his damnedest to provoke you. 
But tonight I don’t think he was talking about you.”
Nick frowned at her suggestion.
“Who do you suppose he was talking to then?” he said more to himself.
“Oh he was definitely talking to you, just not about you.” Natalie shifted in her seat to face 
Nick as he drove them toward the precinct.
“Why do you say that?” He was genuinely curious about Natalie’s deduction and gave her 
his undivided attention.
Natalie’s brow creased as she thought how best to explain what she had felt coming from the 
voice on the radio.
“Mostly it was the way he was talking. I mean it was very insightful, to insightful perhaps, 
even for him. Maybe he’s feeling guilty or remorseful about something? I don’t know, it’s 
hard to pin down, it’s just a hunch.”
Nick grinned. “A hunch?”
“Yes, a hunch.” Natalie said firmly. 
“You mean an unscientific, all together gut feeling, hunch?” Nick said still grinning.
“Yes Nick.” She crossed her arms and glared at the grinning vampire. Nick chuckled at her 
rather impressive expression. 
“Ok, ok, a hunch.” He quickly suppressed his smile, surrendering.  His expression turned 
thoughtful as he though about what Natalie had just said.
“I don’t know Nat. Lacroix never feels guilty about anything.”
“Maybe that’s just what he wants you to think.” The coroner countered.
“Maybe.” But Nick still thought it t0 be a long shot. A grin spred across his lips again. A 
Hunch! Ha!
“Just wait’ll I tell Tracy.” he mumbled.
Natalie slapped him hard on the arm when she heard him.
 “Ow! What was that for!”
“Mumbling.”
Nick’s boyish grin returned with a vengeance.


“Where is he?” Nick lent over the bar as he spoke to the red haired barman. Patrick looked 
up and gestured toward the back office. 
Nick had finally decided his sires behaviour of late, warranted a concerning visit. 
Janette had left a short time ago for parts unknown, leaving the club to Lacroix. He was even 
broadcasting his Nightcrawler show from a sound booth he’d installed in the back of the 
club.

Nick pushed his way through the noisy crowd. Subconsciously straightening his jacket before 
rapping his knuckles on the office door.
“Enter.”
Nick opened the door and popped his head around the corner. Seeing Lacroix sitting with his 
back to the door, sitting back in a large comfortable chair behind Janette’s rather grand 
antique desk, he fully entered the room.
Lacroix slowly spun the chair to face his son, placing the papers he was reading upon the 
desk.
“Nicholas, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
Nick really looked his sire over. Without letting the concern he suddenly felt flow across his 
face or through their bloodlink, he replied casually.
“Nothing in particular, really. I just thought I‘d pop in for a drink. See how your new 
employment was going.” he added with a mischievous grin while waving his arms around the 
room, indicating the whole of the club.
“My ‘employ’ is perfectly adequate thank you Nicholas.” Lacroix’s lips pulled with a slight 
smile, belying his irritated tone as he rose. He crossed the room and retrieved two green wine 
bottles from under the small bar, opening them both. Pouring from one, he handed the glass 
to his son.
Nick cautiously sniffed at the bloodwine. At the strong sent of cow, he took a healthy sip, 
relaxing slightly. 
He watched as Lacroix filled his glass with his own preferred brand and returned to his chair. 
Nick sank down into a chair opposite and propped his feet up on the desk, slouching further 
into his seat. 

Looking once again at Lacroix, he took in the unusual paleness and lines marring the 
ancients normally flawless features. He looked tired, his shoulders slightly slouched and his 
eyes were a little droopy, he obviously wasn’t sleeping well. 
Perhaps Natalie wasn’t so far off the mark with her assumption. At the very least something 
was bothering the older vampire. But nothing ever bothered Lacroix, not like this?
Lacroix had turned slightly away from him, lost in thought.  Finally when Lacroix failed to 
say anything further, Nick lifted his feet back down from the desk and spoke quietly.
“Lacroix?” When he got no response he called again.
“Lacroix.”
“Hmm?” Lacroix started without turning to face him.
“Are you all right?”
Lacroix straightened and turned around, shuffling a small pile of papers on the desk.
“Of course I’m all right. Why would I not be?”
“You seem somewhat…distracted.” Nick said tentatively. Lacroix lifted his glass to his lips 
and took a large mouthful.
“I assure you I am quite all right.” 
Nick paused and contemplated not saying what he was about to.
“I don’t believe you.” 
 Lacroix’s eyebrow shot up and then lowered into a smouldering glare stabbing into Nick’s 
determined gaze.
“Do not presume to question my word Nicholas.” 
Nick knew now for certain something was amiss. Lacroix never lost his temper so quickly, 
not with something so trivial. Nick stood, gesturing at Lacroix he continued.
“Look at you! How can I believe you. You’re a mess!” 
“Get out.” Lacroix’s voice was low and dangerous. Nick didn’t budge, he just crossed his 
arms defiantly. 
That was all Lacroix needed.
His fangs dropped and eyes blazed gold as he launched himself at Nick, throwing them both 
to the ground. Nick tried to push him off but was hampered by the raining blows Lacroix was 
throwing upon him. Eventually Nick, now fully vamped himself, was able to find some 
leverage and buck Lacroix off of him. Leaping to his feet he faced his raging father.
“All right, my arse.” He spat the blood dripping from his mouth on to the carpet. Lacroix 
lunged for him again. They wrestled and fought hard for several minutes, crashing into the 
furniture and walls with enough force for the brawl to be heard above the loud music blaring 
out in the bar.
 Nick barely fought back, allowing Lacroix to vent his rage upon him as he may.  
Only when Lacroix sat over Nick’s terrified face with a broken chairleg raised ready to 
plunge into his son’s heart did he finally stop. 
Snarling, he threw away the improvised stake, pushed himself roughly off Nick’s chest and 
left the room, slamming the office door violently behind him.

Nick crawled to his feet. Moving gingerly as his battered body began to heal, he flopped into 
the desk chair Lacroix had earlier vacated. He had been more than a little surprised at the 
ferosity of Lacroix’s attack upon him just now, and he now frowned as he tried to deduce any 
and all reasons as to why Lacroix was acting so oddly. 
As he sighed heavily in defeat, and lent back, Nick caught a glimpse of a newspaper folded 
and placed discretely under the telephone directory sitting upon the desk. Pulling the paper 
out he unfolded it. The Detective skimmed over the articles on the front page, seeing nothing 
of interest until he reached the bottom righthand corner. Tucked away there was a small 
article headlined;

Hero Boy Dies In Blaze.

Nick carefully read the article, searching for any clues to what may have precipitated 
Lacroix’s outburst and excessive moodiness of the past few days. He knew he was clutching 
at straws with the newspaper, but he could think of nothing else.
An eleven year old boy had run back into their burning house, rescuing two of his siblings, 
and had gone back in for another, before he and his sister succumbed to the blaze. His Father 
just watched on as his children burned.

It was a tragically heroic story. But why would it effect his father so? Nick was sure his 
father had seen, and taken an interest in the story. The paper had been folded in such away as 
to leave the article as the focalpoint of the page. Nick was syre Lacroix had read it, the paper 
had been foled           
Nick frowned thoughtfully. What the hell was going on? 
Once he’d finished off the bottle of cow’s blood Lacroix had opened, and had all but healed. 
Nick picked up the paper and went in search of some answers. 


Lacroix stormed upstairs. He didn’t stop at the apartment level, but carried on up the narrow 
stairs leading up to the roof.  Banging open the roof access, he strode out into the cool night 
air and began to pace wildly. After a few minutes, he began to calm down and collect 
himself. 
He stood eerily still at one of the farthest corners of the building away from the door. He 
closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He chided himself ruthlessly for losing control with 
Nicholas as he had. He’d not done so to such a degree, in well over fifty years, and the last 
occurrence Nicholas had given him more than good cause. On this occasion however, he had 
no such excuse. 
Lacroix sighed heavily as he admitted to himself, the article in the paper a few days ago had 
effected him more than he would have liked. It had reawakened long forgotten memories, 
ones he’d thought gone forever. He had been wrong.

“Lacroix”
Lacroix started mentally at the voice directly behind him. He hadn’t even felt Nicholas 
arrive. 
Lacroix remained silent, facing out toward the lake, the night breeze lightly billowing his 
torn silk shirt. 
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Nick asked quietly, motioning to the paper in his hand. 
From the stairs he had sensed, with relief, his father’s return to a somewhat more stable 
mental position.
“No.” the hoarse whisper floated back.
“It may help.”
“I said, I do not wish to speak with you about it Nicholas!” Lacroix refrained himself from 
turning on his son again. 
Of course he realised his son was just trying to help, it was his way, just as it was his way to 
refuse it. 
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was too old and stubborn with pride, to even tolerate 
the thought of himself wanting, or needing help from anyone. 
“What about talking to someone else?”
“No.”
“Ok.” Nick surrendered quietly.

Nick remained silent at his fathers side, giving him as much support as he dared without the 
risk of being pushed away completely.
Lacroix was never too receptive of those emotions warm in nature, esspescially those 
directed toward himself. He was about as good at receiving love, as he was at showing it.
Lately, he and Lacroix had been getting along remarkably well. Their jibes and swipes at 
each other had come to a centuries long all time low. They had spent more time together in 
the past four months than they had in the past ten years. 
Their relationship was becoming much as it had once been in the beginning. Although now, 
Lacroix wasn’t just his master, sire and teacher anymore, he was also his friend.
They stood side by side for a long while, the rising wisps of light, eventually forcing them to 
shelter inside.

As they made their way to their respective rooms, Lacroix turned meaningfully to Nicholas.
“Goodday Nicholas.” Nick held the man’s gaze for a moment before replying accepting the 
apology of sorts.
“Goodday Lacroix.” Lacroix opened his door and disappeared inside. Standing outside the 
closed door, Nick shook his head. He had never seen Lacroix like this before. No wait, 
perhaps once, when his sister had died, but even then, not like this. It was more than a little 
disconcerting.
Sighing, Nick headed into his own room across the hall and soon lay in bed ready to sleep 
the day away. Sleep failed to find him however and he lay wide awake for hours, turning 
restlessly as his mind raced.


End Part One


Clarus - Part Two


He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he was wide awake again now. Something 
had woken him. He heard it again.
“Clarus!” 
Nick frowned and sat up on his elbows. It sounded as though somebody was searching for 
someone…Clarus? It was the middle of the day! Who on earth could be up at this hour?
“CLARUS!” the name was called again. Desperate now. Nick suddenly recognised who was 
shouting.
 It was Lacroix.
Nick leapt from his bed, almost running across the hall into Lacroix’s room. 
Nick paused, shocked at the distraught sight of his sire.
Lacroix flailed, tangled in his bedclothes yelling. Nick crouched down and shook Lacroix’s 
shoulder, attempting to wake him gently.
“Lacroix, Lacroix. Wake up. It’s Nicholas.” He said, almost desperately.
Nick leapt quickly backwards as Lacroix bolted upright, fully vamped out. 
After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Lacroix fell back to the bed, his features 
back to normal, he rolled over to face in the opposite direction. But it wasn’t quite quick 
enough to hide the utter grief Nick had seen cross the ancients face.
“Lacroix…”
“Nicholas, what are you doing here?” Lacroix’s voice rasped, his face almost buried in the 
pillow.
“I heard you yelling.” Nick said quietly. He paused before adding. “You were having a 
nightmare.”
“I do not have nightmares.” The vampire profusely denied.
“Well, it was a pretty darn good impression of one then.” Nick said gruffly. He was getting 
fed up with being pushed away.
Lacroix didn’t reply.
Nick sighed, shook his head, in defeat and rose.
“I’ll leave you to get back to sleep then.” 
Lacroix still didn’t respond. 
Nick turned, his hand on the doorhandle.
“Stay.” 
Nick let go of the handle and slowly turned back to the bed. Lacroix sat up,  and without 
making eye contact with Nick he rose and donned his robe.
“I wish to tell you something.” Lacroix appeared almost uncomfortable as he pulled out a 
bottle from under the bar. He led them into the living area of the apartment, and sat down in 
one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. 
Nick followed, but instead of sitting, he went over to the smouldering fire and stoked it back 
up to a good sized blaze. It was more for the soothing comfort than for heat, but still the 
warmth felt like a gentle caress across his skin.
He sat down in the matching wingbacked chair adjacent to his father, and watched as the 
ancient vampire stared into the flames. Eventually, Lacroix spoke.


“Before Divia was born, I had a son.” Lacroix said quietly, his gaze never leaving the 
mesmerance of the orange flames. 
Nick tried very hard to stow his shock and surprise at this latest admission from Lacroix. It 
had only been a few months ago his sire had told him of his daughter, Divia’s existence, and 
now a son? Certain pieces of an eight hundred year old puzzle, began to finally fall into 
place.
“Clarus.” Nick whispered. Lacroix’s head whipped around to glare at him.
“What do you know of Clarus!” he demanded. No one knew of his son! No one.
“You were calling his name.” Nick told him calmly.
Lacroix closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  He turned back to the fire. After a moment he 
quietly confirmed what Nick had guessed.
“Yes, his name was Clarus.”



>>>> 69 AD <<<<


Billows of fine yellow dust rose from the parched trail, kicked up by the hooves of the horses 
into a continuous cloud, only to slowly drift back down to settle upon the beasts flanks and 
the generous layer of sweat coating the marching soldiers exposed skin.
 It itched. 
General Lucius reached up once more to scratch absently at his neck.

“Oh Gods, for a river about now.” The stocky, muscular, dark haired man beside him 
groaned. Lucius turned smiling at his Captain and friend’s show of discomfort.
“Indeed.” He glanced up at the sky, the sun was almost directly overhead. It beat upon them 
with little mercy. The rancid stench of both man and beast was becoming overpowering. 
Looking up ahead he noted a small band of trees a few kilometres in the distance. He turned 
back to his Captain.
“Gaius.”
“Yes sir?”
“Send someone ahead to check the tree line. If it’s clear, we’ll rest there.”
“Yes sir!” the man responded with rare enthusiasm before kicking his horse and turning the 
beast to canter further back down the column to issue the order. A moment later two 
horsemen galloped past and on toward the hazy treeline. Gaius returned loyally back to his 
side.
“There may even be a river.” The Captain spoke wistfully. Lucius chuckled. Gaius was a fine 
soldier, but he detested dirt, and wasn’t too proud to let everyone know it. In fact he took 
more baths in a single week, than did half his footmen put together. However, at this moment 
he was inclined to agree. The sweat and dust was now, after five days, almost unbearable. He 
himself was more than ready to rip his helmet off and scratch his sweaty hair. Of course no 
one, except perhaps Gaius, would ever detect his increasing discomfort.

Close to an hour later, the horsemen returned, pulling to a dust billowing halt infront of the 
General. They were soaking wet.
“Please tell me it’s a river.” Gaius almost pleaded. One of the men saluted the General 
respectfully, then smiled.
“It’s a river, sir.” the knight joyfully told the Captain. “We scouted the banks a kilometre in 
each direction. It appears clear Sir.” He spoke now to Lucius. 
“Very well.” Lucius nodded, dismissing the horsemen.
The horsemen and footsoldiers alike, managed to pick up their pace as they neared their 
promised, and  more than welcome, relief.

General Lucius stood back and waited. He watched as first his Officers, then his footmen 
splashed joyfully in the cool slow flowing water. 
He handed his horse over to a stablehand to be cared for and as the last of his men left the 
water and lay under the cluster of tall trees to rest, he himself shed his armour and slipped 
into the water. He washed the dust and sweat from his body then lay back and relaxed with 
his head resting upon a small boulder and his barefeet planted firmly against a smooth rock, 
preventing himself from floating off downstream.  

He opened his eyes and glanced up as Gaius, returning from a recognisance of the 
surrounding area, finally splashed theatrically down beside him.
“Ooh, that’s much better.” he sighed as he sat in the blissfully cool water.
“There’s a good clearing about two hundred meters further east. It’s large enough to set up 
camp.” He unashamedly hinted at the suggestion of saying here for the rest of the day, even 
though there were still several hours of good daylight remaining in which to march. 
Lucius lay back down, submerging himself once again, floating.
“Very well.” He succumbed to the not so silent pleading of his first officer.  Gaius happily 
joined him in laying down in the refreshing water.  He heard Gaius sigh heavily again as the 
water soothed their tired muscles. 
His army had been marching non stop for over two weeks. Having recently fought in the 
battle of Habeb, they were making the victorious journey back to their homes and families. It 
would still be close to six months before they would eventually see their home soil again.

 Lucius had set out from Rome in the early spring with a legion of men, 5000 in all. He 
would return with a little over 3000, and it was his job to keep as many of those left alive 
until they got there.
Lucius was known to be a fearless, ruthless leader, who was logical and cunning in his battle 
strategies. He was also known by all, especially the common soldier, to also be a fair man. 
The way he conducted his Legion was a reflection of this philosophy. He would not tolerate 
waste, and that included leading his men into meaningless death, sacrificing men for 
worthless exercises. Many other Generals would do just that, often, and with frightening ease 
and callousness. General Lucius could be just as callous, he had so proven himself, but never 
had he done so without reason.   

Lucius suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. 
He was being watched. Raising himself a little way out of the water, he glanced carefully 
around. 
Downstream crouched a young boy, staring at them. When the boy noticed he had been seen, 
he fled quickly into the bushes and disappeared. 
Lucius sat fully up and let out a loud whistle. Everyone of his 3000 men lifted his head in 
response. He gestured to one of the horsemen who had scouted earlier and pointed 
downstream to where the boy had been. The soldier leapt to his feet and ran for his horse. 
Mounting it bareback, he splashed quickly across to the other side and cantered along the 
riverbank to where his General had gestured. He was quickly followed by two others.
Like everyone else, Gaius had sat erect abruptly when his General whistled.
“What? What is it?” he asked looking avidly about.
“We have a visitor.” his General responded with his usual icy calm.

A long while later, as Lucius waited in the sun, letting it’s heat dry his sodden clothing, his 
horseman returned apologetically empty handed, having thoughrally searched the riverbanks 
and the surrounding area with a mounted patrol. 
Turning to Gaius he commanded.
“Set up camp in the clearing, but double the guard tonight.” The last thing he needed was to 
be raided in the middle of the night.
“Yes sir.” Gaius left promptly shouting orders as he went. Under his direction, all 3000 men 
and beasts would be fed and housed by nightfall.
 Lucius stared thoughtfully at where he had spotted the boy earlier. There had been 
something in the way the child had been watching them...watching him. 
Not quite able to define the feeling he had about the encounter, as threatening or not, he 
decided to play it safe by increasing the guard around and throughout the camp.

Lucius sat late into the night reviewing field reports and various other mundane day to day 
paperwork.
 The camp had quietened down quickly tonight. The men were tired from the endless 
marching of the past fortnight and he was thinking strongly about staying here for a few days 
in order to replenish their stores, minds and bodies. 
The battle at Habeb had been long and hard. He had lost many fine men. But in the end, 
victory had been theirs, therefore, so to was Habeb. The victory would be a good one for the 
Empire. The city had been small, yet held great importance in it’s prominent position along 
the main trade route of the region. It would open up a great deal of new enterprise between 
the Empire and the more distant Eastern regions. 

Suddenly he felt himself hungry, and having already dismissed his servants for the night, he 
sighed and hauled himself to his feet. He could wake them of course, but he wasn’t prepared 
to wait the time it would take for his food to finally reach him. 
Stretching his tall frame he exited his tent and headed silently over to the food stores. 
Nodding to the guards as he passed, pleased to see them all awake and alert as they saluted 
him. 
He quickly found where the cooks hid the salted meats and fruit, and made himself a platter 
to take back to his tent. 
Slowly, he replaced an apricot back onto the pile he had just taken it from. He had heard a 
faint noise come from somewhere behind him. Straining his ears he tried to determine exactly 
where the sound had come. Slowly as he turned around, he caught a glimpse of movement 
from the shadows behind a tall stack of grain sacks and urns. 
The intruder must have seen he had been detected, for a small dark form suddenly bolted 
from the corner, knocking sacks and crates over as he bounded straight for the door. 
Lucius had been ready. He lunged at the form, tackling it to the ground, audibly knocking 
the wind from the thief. Lucius knew him to be a thief, for the stolen fruit, which had been 
hidden in his tunic, had been crushed in the fall, and was now seeping red and orange juice 
into his own light coloured toga. Ignoring the soon to be sticky mess, he stood, hauling the 
small form up with him. 
It was the boy from the river. Roughly gripping the boy by the arm, he pulled the struggling 
boy from the tent.  Lucius strode across the centre of the compound.
“Guard!” he angrily bellowed, loud enough to wake every living soul in range. Within 
seconds he was surrounded by a dozen armed men. 
Glaring at each of his men in turn, he shook the boy before the bewildered and anxious 
guard.
“Secure the Camp!” he growled. The men leapt into action calling and waking the camp as 
they went.  Lucius dragged the boy back to his own quarters.

“Sit!” he pushed the child down on to a low stool infront of his desk. Pulling his own chair 
out from behind it, he sat himself infront of the boy. Leaning forward he spoke dangerously.
“How many are with you?” he asked. The boy just glared at him and crossed his arms.
Lucius struck the child hard across the face with the palm of his hand. The boy was knocked 
wincing to the floor. Slowly righting and returning to his seat, the boy raised a hand to the 
red mark left on his cheek.
“I am alone.” He replied very quietly. 
“Why were you stealing from my store.” Lucius continued harshly. 
The child looked up at him as if he were retarded.
“I was hungry.”
“Are you not fed by your mother?” Lucius snapped, turning to grab a cloth to wipe futilely at 
the sticky stain on his tunic.
“No.”
Looking back at the boy, he took in his too thin frame and filthy appearance, augmented now 
by the juice stains spread across his coarse tunic.
“Where do you live?” he asked a little more calmly.
The boy just shrugged and glanced away.
“Where is your mother?”
“She is dead.”
“Your father?”
The boy just shrugged again. Lucius was interrupted from asking further questions as Gaius 
entered. Saluting to Lucius, he stood at attention as he made his report.
“The camp is secure General. No other intruders were discovered.”
“Have the guard tripled and have the shift at present stay until dawn.” Lucius ordered 
without letting his eyes leave the boy. “Return here when you are done.”
“Yes sir.” Gaius saluted once more and hurriedly left.
Standing, Lucius circled the boy silently. The child for his part sat patiently still. This was 
deceptive, for Lucius had been watching the boy as he took in every item and corner of the 
tent in which he was now captive. Lucius knew if he dared to blink, the boy would be gone. 
He remained silent until Gaius returned. As he and his first officer sat themselves before the 
boy, he lent back and spoke casually.
“What is your name.”
The boy hesitated before answering. 
“Clarus.”
“Well Clarus.” Lucius moved forward in his seat, resting his forearms across his knees. 
“Just exactly how, were you able to sneak into my camp?”
The boy smiled slightly as he replied.
“Oh, I can sneak into anywhere.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow and sat back.
“Is that so?.”
The boy nodded ducking his head and scratched the back of his neck with a suddenly 
nervous hand.
Lucius watched thoughtfully as the boy tried valiantly to stifle a yawn. He found himself 
battling not to yawn himself and he rose to his feet and faced Gaius who had risen as he had 
in anticipation of his next order.
“Place him under guard for the night. We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.”
Gaius took the boy to a single tent by himself, guarded by two of his best soldiers. There 
wasn’t going to be another stuff up tonight. Not if he could help it.  
 

End Part Two



Clarus - Part Three



Very early the next morning, Lucius wandered through the sleeping camp and on down to the 
river to bathe. He enjoyed this time of the morning. It was still and quiet. It was a time for 
him to relax before his still sleeping army woke to hound him with their woes.
Stripping off his tunic, he plunged head first into the icy river. He came up huffing and 
blowing at the freezing temperature of the waist high water. Reaching back onto the bank he 
retrieved a cake of soap and began to lather his body. He was moving relatively quickly in 
order to get out of the frigid water. He jerked his head up and frowned when he heard a 
stifled giggle come from the river bank. 
“Show yourself.” He ordered. Clarus, smiling, slowly stepped out from behind a clump of 
bushes and sat down at the rivers edge. Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?”
The boy gestured back toward the bushes as he replied.
“I, um, needed to relive myself.”
“How did you get out of your tent?” the General growled, taking a step toward the boy. 
Clarus just gave him a mischievous grin.
“I just lifted a peg and crawled out the back.” 
Lucius pressed his lips together as he realised the gap created by lifting the peg would be 
much to small, for even a small adult to crawl through, yet just right to allow a child to claim 
his freedom.
“The guards heard you not?” he asked. The boy actually chuckled.
“I think they’re still guarding the empty tent.”
Lucius pictured the scene and lost some of the gusting anger which had been rapidly rising. 
Cracking the barest of smiles he conceded.
“Yes, they most probably are.” He continued to rinse the remaining soap from his body. 
Glancing at the boy, still sitting at the waters edge, he took in his rare light colouring. He 
was most probably of Roman decent.
“Where are you from?” he asked the boy.
“North, I think.”
“You don’t know?”
The boy shrugged clearly embarrassed. They were silent for a time.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” the boy suddenly asked. Lucius looked up at the boy.
“Why did you think I would kill you?”
“That’s what all Romans do, don’t they?” 
“Some, but not all.” He replied after a pause. 
Lucius suddenly grabbed hold of the boy and dragged him into the water. Clarus yelled and 
kicked at him.
“What are you doing, you pervert?!” Lucius halted any more accusations by dunking the boys 
head under. Pulling him back up he leant into his spluttering face.
“Do not panic. I’m only going to attempt to clean a few layers of the dirt from your filthy 
body. I can stand the smell and sight of you no longer!”
With that he pulled off the boys clothing, tossing it back up on to the bank, and reached once 
more for his soap. He started with the muck in his hair, then moved quickly yet diligently 
over the rest of the boys body. He noted the outline of the boys ribs and the firmness of his 
muscles, he was accustomed to hard work, but was under fed. His long hair transformed into 
a shade lighter than even his own light colouring. 
Handing the boy the bar of soap he pushed him toward the bank.
“Wash your clothes.” Clarus did as he was bid and quickly scrubbed his clothes as clean as 
he could. When he had finished, Lucius ordered him out of the water. They both pulled on 
their wet clothes, and the General led the boy back into camp.

When the guards saw the General and their charge walking toward them, they visibly 
cringed. As one quickly checked the interior of the tent, the other quietly exclaimed 
something, of which roughly translated to a well known and timeless phrase.
Oh shit.
Lucius sent the men to their barracks with a reprimand and took the boy back to his own 
quarters to await Gaius’s arrival.
 Lucius had watched fascinated, as the boy barely kept his ravenous hunger from tearing into 
the food he had ordered for them both. Once fed, he ordered Clarus to take Gaius and 
himself, step by step through his uninvited entry into the camp. 
Lucius had been impressed. Unless he had put soldiers shoulder to shoulder around the camp, 
this boy would still have broken through. 
 
“So, what are you going to do to me?” Clarus asked bravely as the two tall men stood 
ingesting what he had shown them, formulating plans to counter the chinks in their armour.  
The General looked down at him, his expression unreadable. Clarus swallowed, suddenly 
wishing he hadn’t spoken. He lifted his hands to his hips and stared at Clarus before 
speaking.
“You will have to pay for the food you stole.” He said firmly. Clarus ducked his head.
“I…I don’t have any money, or anything to trade.” He said quietly.
“Then you will have to work off your debt, plus extra time for the offence itself.” General 
Lucius continued to stare at him, making him nervous and ashamed at what he had done, 
even though he had been starving. He stole only when and what he had too. And a for boy in 
his station in life, that meant he stole a lot. But he had been caught, and he knew the Roman 
could have just killed him, any of the towns people would have. So he felt he owed this 
General something. He nodded his agreement, keeping his eyes fixed firmly to the ground.
“Very well, Captain Gaius will take you to your detail where you will be directed in your 
duties.” 
Clarus nodded once again.
“Speak!” the General commanded. Clarus snapped his eyes to the Generals.
“Yes sir.”
The General turned to the Captain and gave him a command he couldn’t hear, then strode off 
back to his tent. 

Gaius watched the General and the boy closely as they interacted. He couldn’t shake the 
notion that the child seemed somewhat familiar. He shifted his attention back to Lucius as he 
turned to him.
“Make sure he is not...interfered with.” Lucius said quietly in his ear. Gaius nodded his 
understanding, not all the men in the camp were as courteous as the General, and they had 
not been through a town with women a plenty, for sometime. He looked back toward the 
silent boy as his General returned to his tent.
“Come.” He turned the boy toward the mess tent, leading him off to his first days work for 
the 21st Legion of the Imperial Roman army.

The Captain left him in the charge of the Chief cook, and disappeared to attend to his own 
duties.
Clarus stood patiently before the large man staring down at him, awaiting his instruction. The 
chief cook was a gruff looking fellow with short hair and a vicious scar running down the 
length of his face.
“I am Minutus, and this is my kitchen. What I say is law. Understand.” The large man 
boomed. Clarus nodded.
“What do they call you?”
“Clarus.”
“Ha! We’ll soon see, just how bright you are, little one.” He exclaimed loudly. Clarus was to 
soon learn this was pretty much the Chiefs natural volume.
“What can you do?”
“Anything you show me.”
“Good answer. But first, you can not be working in my kitchen with that mop on your head!”
Clarus looked at the bellowing man, confused as to what he was saying.
“Look around you boy!” the man exclaimed seeing his lack of comprehension. “No one in 
this kitchen has hair longer than mine!”
Clarus glanced around. The Chief was right, everyone had short hair.
“You want to cut my hair?”
“No. But the barber does!” Minutus thought this very funny and rocked and rolled as he 
chuckled heartily.
A meaty hand reached down and caught the back of Clarus’s tunic,  the Chief proceeded to 
drag him back out of the tent and across to where one of the Legions barbers had set up his 
services.
A short time later Clarus reemerged from the barbers shop, to gasps and then a chuckling 
roar.
“Well, if it isn’t the Little General!” Minutus announced as Clarus reentered the main mess 
tent. 
The barber had, in his apparent amusement, cut Clarus’s hair exactly as he cut the General’s 
own. 
With both the boy and General Lucius being of only a handful of men with such light 
colouring, the resemblance was quite striking.
“Come, enough play, now we work!” Minutus proceeded to instruct Clarus in how to prepare 
vegetables and to clean the enormous vats used to cook and prepare food for 500 men. This 
was the Chief Mess of ten, this entailed that it was also responsible for preparing meals for 
the officers, and for General Lucius.  
By nightfall the last meal of the day was being served.
“Clarus!”
“Yes Chief!” Clarus hurried over to receive his next order. Clarus was tired, he had been up 
since before dawn, and had been working hard all day. He buried his weariness, he’d been 
through longer and harder days than this before, though not many. He waited patiently as 
Minutus prepared a platter of meats, cheese and vegetable, and handed the covered tray 
down to him.
“Take this to the Generals quarters, he wishes to see you.”
“Yes sir.” Clarus took the tray and carefully carried it across the compound to the Generals 
tent.
The guard outside, lifted the cover on the tray and inspected the food carefully. He then led 
him inside, motioning to him where to place the platter.
Clarus put the heavy tray down on the table indicated, and shook out his hands to get the 
blood circulating in his fingers again. The General, nor anyone else, were present. 
“Wait here.” the guard commanded. Clarus sat on the low stool he had been sitting upon the 
day before and proceeded to do just as he was asked. The guard left him to resume his 
position outside.
He was hungry. Clarus glanced at the platter, still covered, sitting on the table across the 
room. He decided adamantly not to pursue that line of thought. Instead, to distract himself, 
he rose and wandered around the vast room. 

The Generals armour lay carefully polished upon a low table. Clarus brushed his hand along 
the tall red bristles of the helmet and chuckled at the tickling sensation across his palm. 
Moving on he came to the largest piece of furniture in the room. The wide low table, held a 
multitude of scrolls, some of which had been laid out across the table and weighted down. 
Curious, Clarus lent over the table and began trying to decipher what he was looking at. The 
lines and symbols weren’t making much sense to him, and there were very few actual words 
to read. 
“Do you know what you are looking at?” 
Clarus spun around to find the General standing close behind him watching. He shook his 
head. The General raised an eyebrow, it was all which was needed to remind Clarus to use 
his tongue.
“No, sir.”
“Can you read?”
“A little, sir. My mother’s father taught me.”

Lucius had silently observed the boy as he tilted his freshly shorn head to alter his view of 
the maps and charts covering the table, before making his own presence known.
He crossed over to the table and shuffled the scrolls, pulling one in particular to the surface.
“Come, look at this.” He beckoned the boy closer. Leaning over the map he pointed to a 
coloured area.
“This is a picture of the river we bathed in this morning.” He saw the boys comprehension 
and understanding dawn upon him.
“These are the mountains far in the distance,” he pointed in the general direction of the hazy 
range seen during the day. “Do you see what I am showing you?” 
“Yes sir. It’s a picture of the territory.”
“Good.” Lucius looked to the boy. “Do you know this region?  Can you tell me where the 
villages and towns lie?” 
Clarus paused thoughtfully then nodded.
“Yes, most of them.”
“Show me.”
Clarus turned to point toward the east.
“No. On the map.” Lucius tapped the table. He watched as the boy frowned and concentrated 
hard on the map before him. 
“How far is a days walk?” the boy asked him cautiously, pointing at the scroll.
“This far.” Lucius measured out a centimetre on the map to show the boy. After a moment 
more of study, the child placed his finger on a space on the landmass.
“Simpel is about three days from here. Terissu is a further ten from there.” 
Lucius watched, pleased as the boy quickly picked up the workings of the map and 
determined exactly where everything lay in relation to the other.
“Ulanda is over here.” Clarus pointed toward the mountains. “You shouldn’t go there. They 
don’t like Romans.”  
“Really.” Lucius replied amused at the boys tenacity. The boy nodded adamantly.

Gaius stood unobserved, staring at the boy and the General as they lent together over the 
table, his mouth still hanging open from when he first entered the tent.
Gods! It couldn’t be! He was supposed to be dead. It had been five years since he had last 
seen the child, he had grown. But now, together with his name, though uncommon, it wasn’t 
unheard of, he knew in his heart who the boy was. He was a long way from home.

Sabrina, Lucius’s favourite consort had come to him eleven summers past, telling him of her 
pregnancy. The timing could not have been worse. Lucius had only recently been promoted 
to General and such a scandal as fathering a child from a consort would not bode well for his 
career. Sabrina refused to have it terminated, he could have forced her, but he wasn’t a 
barbarian, and wasn’t about to become one. So he had done the only thing left open to him. 
Sabrina had left the city and mothered the child on her own. Gaius had made sure the mother 
and child were housed and clothed. He even arranged for Sabrina to work at the local Inn 
once the babe was born. He had kept track of their progress and whereabouts until a fateful 
night five years ago when Sabrina met her death as the Inn burnt to the ground.  
The child had been passed on to Sabrina’s parents. They had been old, and couldn’t keep up 
with the demands caring for a young child entailed, so he was passed on to an uncle, then a 
cousin, and finally an acquaintance. Gaius had lost track of him at this point, and was unable 
to re-ignite the trail of his whereabouts, he had thought the child long dead.

But here he now stood, standing side by side with his father, neither one knowing the other.
Gaius had never told Lucius of Sabrina’s pregnancy. Her absence had been explained away 
as her need to return to her ailing parents to attend their care.
Gods! How could he tell him now! He had noticed the unexplained magnetism between the 
father and son. 
For now though, he thought, I’ll just let them go along as they have been. With Lucius 
already providing for another unwed child in Pompeii, Gaius wasn’t sure how his General 
would react to the news that the thief and vagabond he himself had captured and brought 
within his camp, was actually his own flesh and blood.


The Legion remained at the riverside for several days. Clarus spent his time working for 
Minutus,  running errands and messages between the numerous mess tents. He had fast 
become known about the camp as the Little General, much to the Chief’s ongoing 
amusement. 
The camp tailor had made him a new tunic, replacing the rags he had been wearing. 
Smoothing it down, feeling the softness of the material, Clarus smiled up at the tailor who 
was beaming down at his obvious delight in receiving the tailored uniform.

The next morning a small scouting party left the camp before dawn. At the first rays of the 
sun, the rest of the camp roused into action and began to break camp. It was time to move on.
 Everyday Clarus brought the General his meals, sometimes remaining in the evening to 
answer questions asked of him. Today though, he was directed to help dismantle the mess 
tent,  gathering up all the pegs and packing them away into the carts which would carry the 
canvas and stores to their next camp site.
By mid morning they were ready to leave.
From a distance, he watched in awe as General Lucius mounted his stead and waved the 
column onward.
 The pace was slow but steady, conserving energy as they walked. They stopped to rest and 
to eat twice a day. 


End Part Three



Clarus - Part Four



The sun continued to shine ferociously as they walked. 
Clarus walked beside the cart hauling his Mess and the ample body of Minutus. The loud 
man sang and encouraged the soldiers on as they marched. 
Clarus was kept busy preparing food whenever they stopped for the midday and evening 
meals. He was forced to rise earlier than when they had been camped, in order to tend to 
breakfast and to get ahead in preparing food for during the day. He worked diligently, doing 
anything asked of him without comment or gripe.
Luckily for him, working in the mess allowed him to indulge in a lot more food than he was 
used to receiving. Minutus would say he was fattening him up for sacrifice. Clarus was sure 
he was only joking, but he still squealed and ran away every time Minutus grinned manicly 
at him and pulled out the roasting spit.

The army had passed through Simpel without event, gathering fresh stores as they went, and  
continued on toward the larger settlement of Terissu. 
Clarus became very wary as they entered the town. He’d had a run in or two with some of the 
store keepers here. It was the reason he had been heading toward the river in the first place.

“Well well. I see you’ve found your own kind Thief!” a voice boomed from slightly ahead. A 
few onlookers snickered at his words.
Clarus looked up to see the local Innkeeper leaning in his doorway, watching as the Romans 
passed by. As he drew closer a strong hand grabbed at his shoulder drawing him out of the 
formation.
“You owe me you little bastard!” the man growled shaking him. The man then dragged him 
inside out of sight from the soldiers marching by in the street.


Minutus looked back just in time to see Clarus being hauled inside by the Innkeeper. He 
motioned to a horseman and told him of the situation. The horseman looked toward the Inn, 
then up to where the General and first officer were riding far ahead. He knew the General 
had taken a particular interest in the boy. Nodding to Minutus he kicked his horse into a trot 
and headed onward to catch up with his commander.
Minutus watched earnestly as the knight spoke to Gaius. He had grown fond of the little 
general over the past weeks. He was a good worker, it would be a shame to lose him so soon.
He looked on as both Gaius and the General turned back in their saddles to glance at where 
the horseman was pointing. When Gaius swung his horse around to deal with the problem, he 
was halted by the General. Minutus and most of the soldiers around him raised an interested 
eyebrow as the General himself turned back and cantered past them back toward the Inn.

Clarus was helpless against the fist which plowed viciously into his face. Blood squirted into 
his eye, stinging and blinding him. He brought his arms up to try to protect himself. But he 
was thrown across the room, landing hard against the bar.  Fighting to breathe he struggled to 
his hands and knees.

Lucius dismounted outside the rundown Inn and quickly ducked inside, allowing room for his 
helmet to clear the doorway.
He watched as Clarus was thrown against the bar and strode up behind the Innkeeper, 
grabbing his arm as he was about to kick the boy on the floor.
“What is the meaning of this!” he demanded the raging man.
“Meaning?! I’ll give you meaning Roman! This thief stole a portion of food from my store 
and while he was there, destroyed four urns of top quality wine!!”
Lucius looked down to the boy now on his hands and knees, gasping. 
“Clarus, is this so?” he demanded now of the boy, still holding onto the innkeeper. Unable to 
speak, Clarus reluctantly nodded. Lucius pulled out his purse and pulled out a gold coin. He 
flipped it to the baffled Innkeeper.
“This should more than cover your loss.” He said firmly. The Innkeeper nodded, and 
clutching his new wealth, scuttled out through the back exit, putting as much distance 
between himself and the Roman, should he change his mind and choose just to kill him 
instead.
Lucius stepped closer to Clarus. Crouching down he lifted the boys face to inspect the 
damage. He wiped the blood from his eye. It was minimal. Rising again to his feet he put his 
hands on his hips.
“Get up.” He commanded.
Clarus slowly rose to his feet. Not meeting the General’s eye he shuffled his feet and 
fidgeted under the man’s silent intense gaze.
“It seems you have added greatly to your debt.” Lucius continued to glare at the boy.
“Yes sir.” The boy all but whispered.
“Rejoin your detail.” The General ordered. He followed Clarus closely as the boy moved 
quickly from the Inn and began to walk quickly toward Minutus and his cart, now far ahead 
in the distance. 
Lucius remounted his horse and kicked it into a canter. As he caught up with the boy he lent 
over and grabbed him under the arms, pulling him off the ground to his side, slowing his pace 
not one bit.  
He carried the boy roughly under one arm, and as he slowed and drew alongside his Chief 
cook, he dropped his burden onto the back of the cart, before galloping on to rejoin his 
Captain.

Gaius raised an eyebrow as he drew alongside.
“Not one word Gaius.” He warned. He knew his behaviour had been out of character. His 
First officer and friend was obviously greatly amused at his altruistic act.
Gaius just chuckled lightly and continued to ride on.

  Several days of ceaseless marching later, his scouts arrived back with news.
“Sir” the out of breath horseman gasped and saluted. “There lies a Celtan camp about ten 
kilometres further ahead.” He reported.
“How many?” he asked.
“Only a few, no more than twenty. A scout or raiding party most likely.”
“Should we wait them out?” Gaius asked. Lucius thought carefully, but decided against a 
confrontation with the Celtan at this time. The Empire has been negotiating trade affiliations 
with the large clan. If the negotiations were successful the Celtan would be a formidable 
addition to their armies, but if they were not, then the Celtan would become their enemy.
“Sir” 
Lucius turned back to the scout. 
“I was able, last night, to move close enough to hear them speak of plans to raid an Empire 
settlement. But I was unable to discover which township they intended.” 
  Lucius took in this vital piece of information. 
“Set up camp here for the night.” He glanced to Gaius. “Ready a small party to infiltrate the 
camp after sundown.” He dismissed the horsemen and turned back to Gaius as the man 
spoke.
“Lucius? Those were the best men we have. If they couldn’t get in, then how do you suppose 
anyone else will?” Gaius frowned as his General smiled.
“No, no, you can not do that!” he exclaimed realising just what his General was intending.
“I can not?.” Lucius glared at Gaius, daring him to tell him otherwise.
“He’s just a boy. He wont know what to look for!” Gaius argued weakly.
“Then you will have to show him.”
Gaius watched helplessly as Lucius rode away from him to where his quarters were being 
rapidly erected.

As darkness descended. Lucius led a small raiding party of his own toward the Celtan camp. 
Gaius rode alongside him with Clarus clinging tightly about his waist. The two scouting 
horsemen brought up the rear.
A kilometre from the camp they dismounted, covering the remaining distance on foot.
They crept silently through the undergrowth. They had shed their armour at the camp in order 
to move silently and efficiently with minimal risk of detection. The officers wore their red 
cloaks, almost black in the darkness, wrapped around them in order to cover their light 
tunics.

They lay cautiously down behind a wooded ridge separating them from the Celtan camp site. 
“Do you remember what to look for Clarus?” Gaius asked the boy again.
“Yes.”
“Are you ready?”
Nodding the boy grinned. 
“I’m ready.”
“Good, now fetch.” Gaius told him.

Clarus backed carefully back down the ridge, and circled his way around to the far side of 
the camp.
The men watched apprehensively as the boy began to sneak into the camp. 
“What’s he doing?” Gaius asked, his voice pitching higher with anxiety, as he watched 
Clarus head toward the mess tent.
“It appears he is once again hungry.” Lucius remarked, not the least bit amused. He watched 
as the boy clumsily entered the tent.
The alarm had been raised to his presence. They watched helplessly as the boy shot out from 
the tent and ran toward the woods in the opposite direction to where they lay in wait.
“Damn it!” Gaius exclaimed. “I knew he was too young!” 
“Wait.” Lucius commanded pulling Gaius back to the ground, not taking his eyes from the 
action ensuing below.
 He watched as most of the camp took off after the boy, who by now had disappeared into the 
dark undergrowth. 
Several minutes passed as they watched apprehensively, silently holding their breaths as the 
soldiers made their way through the shoulder high reeds covering a patch of muddy swamp 
situated close to the camp. They skewered long spears into the reeds at regular intervals, 
probing fruitlessly for the elusive thief. When the soldiers passed by and had gone deeper 
into the woods, Lucius almost missed the dark figure which crawled from the swamp and 
scurried toward the unguarded camp.
“Well, I’ll be.” Gaius muttered. “I sure as hell didn’t teach him that.”
“I’d gathered as much.” Lucius said smiling as he continued to watch the boy at work.

Clarus, covered head to toe in dark mud had successfully lured the soldiers from the camp 
and was now helping himself to the conveniently packed leather satchel of maps and orders. 
He had lain in the mud of the swamp, burying his face in the wetness as the soldiers walked 
by, one stepping so close to his shoulder, he had felt the man’s sandal brush his tunic. He had 
shoved his teeth into his hand as a spear, grazed down his right thigh, shooting a jolt of pain 
through his body.

As the soldiers returned to their raided camp, Clarus, limping slightly, finally slid down 
behind the ridge and handed the General his booty.
The boy giggled.
“Gods, I can’t believe they fell for that.” He said quietly. 
“Phew! You stink like a sewer boy!” Gaius exclaimed waving a hand in front of his nose.
Lucius stared into the boy’s blue eyes, bright against his near black skin and hair. He gave 
him a small rewarding smile.
“Come, let us quickly depart.” He commanded, tucking the satchel under his arm. They all 
hurried back to their horses and back on to camp. Gaius forcing Clarus to ride behind one of 
the horsemen, refusing to take the boy himself. He hated dirt, and he hated smelly dirt even 
more.

Upon their arrival Lucius ordered Clarus to be bathed and his injuries tended, and went on to 
his quarters with Gaius in tow, to review the contents of the satchel. 
They stayed late into the night reading and deciphering the maps and orders of the Celtans 
raiders.
 It had proved to have been an important find, showing trade routes and other areas along the 
Empires boundaries where the Celtan were subtly building up their forces. This was more 
than just a raid on a single settlement. They were preparing for war...and the Roman Empire 
was their intended target.

The next morning Lucius picked up the marching pace, pushing his men as much as he dared.
It also began to rain. The heavens opened up and continued to weep upon them for four 
straight days and nights. 
He watched as Clarus, who had taken to walking nearby, trudged along, fighting to keep up 
with the grown men. 

Clarus stumbled in the mud and growing darkness, wincing as his hands skidded against the 
stones in the road. His injured leg, aching as he walked. A soldier behind, one of the 
General’s gaurd’s, picked him up and slung him onto his back. Clarus gratefully wrapped his 
legs around the man’s waist and leant wearily against his back, closing his eyes. The soldier 
carried him for over an hour.
“Titus! The soldier called to a man adjacent to him. Take him for awhile, I’m going to drop 
him.” He gasped.

Lucius heard the exclamation and turned back to come along side the soldier.
“Give him to me.” he ordered holding out his hands. The soldier looked up to meet the 
intimidating gaze of his General atop his stead. He silently lifted the boy for the General to 
take and place in his own arms. Cradling the exhausted boy infront of him he continued to 
ride on. He looked down as he felt the boy snuggle closer to him grasping his tunic in his fist. 
The boy shivered. Lucius pulled his cloak around him, cocooning the boy within.
Gaius looked on, a sober expression crossed his face. He knew he would soon have to speak 
with Lucius. Taking a deep breath he began calling out instructions to set up camp at the next 
suitable clearing.

On the sixth day the rained stopped. It was as sudden as a if one of the Gods had decided to 
plug up the sky. The clouds parted and the sun shone down once again, finally drying their 
sodden souls.
They marched for two more days before reaching another river to replenish their water 
supply.

Lucius eyed the moderately swift water. They would have to take care. He rode his stead 
carefully into the water. Slowly he made his way across the twenty metre expanse and up the 
opposing bank. 
Gaius remained on the otherside keeping order, as first the horsemen and carts, then the 
footmen began to make their own way across. 
With the crossing well underway he prepared to traverse the river himself. He glimpsed 
Clarus tentatively approaching the waters edge. Gaius realised that although the water only 
came up to a mans waist, it would be at least chest high on the boy.
“Clarus! Come here!” he called the boy over. The boy ran to his side.
“Come on, climb up.” He lent over and helped the smiling boy on to the back of his horse.
Clarus tightly clutched at his waist as they stepped into the flow. They rode alongside the 
column of men as they slowly waded across.
 About half way, their horse stumbled sharply. The stead’s hooves slid out from under them 
and they all plunged into the icy river. 
Gaius managed to instinctively keep a hold of his reins. Looking wildly around he watched 
as Clarus lost his hold on a nearby rock and was pulled rapidly down stream.
“CLARUS!!” he yelled helplessly.

Lucius sat upon his stead on the far side of the river waiting for his troops to safely cross. He 
watched alarmed as Gaius and Clarus first stumbled, then tumbled into the swift water, then 
fearfully as the boy was swept away.
 Without a second thought, Lucius kicked his stead into a fast gallop and raced along the 
river bank trying to get ahead of the boy as he was swept along, disappearing from view as he 
was pulled under time and time again. 
As he passed him and reached a clump of  logs lining the riverbank, he leapt down from his 
horse, ripping off his helmet and cloak as he ran down the bank and along the logs until he 
reached out over quickening river. The water was flowing even faster here. He looked up to 
see the boy heading straight toward him. If he just reached a little further he could grab a 
hold of him as he floated by.
“Clarus! Grab hold!” he yelled to the boy. Clarus raised his arms as he neared. Lucius caught 
him and began to haul him out of the water. Unfortunately, the log on which he was clung, 
decided now would be a good time to relinquish it’s hold on the riverbank and move. It 
dumped the pair back into the water, which now carried them both even further on down 
stream. 

Lucius held onto Clarus as they were swept along. The water became rapids knocking them 
heavily against smooth rocks and submerged logs. They were dragged under time again. 
Lucius tried to protect the boy as much as he could, he dared not lose his hold on him, for he 
would surely be lost.
Finally, they were caught within an eddy along one side of the swift flow, and Lucius was 
able to swim them both to shore. He pulled himself and the boy up on to the bank and 
flopped down rapidly gasping in lungful upon lungful of air, Clarus laying upon him, 
remaining tightly clung to his chest. Lucius closed his eyes and waited for Gaius to come and 
collect them.



End Part Four



Clarus - Part Five



Gaius had reached the otherside and was galloping along the bank when he saw Lucius and 
the boy fall back into the river and were swept away. He was followed closely behind by two 
other horsemen. One of which paused briefly to gather the Generals clothing and horse, then 
continued further on down river.
 Gaius let out a relived sigh as he caught sight of the pair laying prone upon the riverbank. 
Leaping off his horse he crouched over his friend.
“Lucius?! Are you all right?”
“I’m wet again Gaius.” Lucius replied quietly. Gaius smiled.
“Gods, don’t scare me like that again. Either of you!” he scolded. 
“It was your horse which started this little adventure.” Lucius reminded the Captain.
“Yes, well, it was the two of you who fell in the water.”
Lucius chuckled as he rose, pushing the boy to his own feet as he went. “How can I argue 
against such logic.” He chortled. 
They rode slowly back to where his army had set up camp once again. All grateful of the rest 
their beds provided.
After the evening meal had been distributed, Gaius entered the Generals tent. He found him 
pouring once again over the Celtan maps, his earlier swim seemingly not having any effect on 
his energy level, though he did note the stiffness with which he moved.
Earlier, as he had watched Lucius race to save his son, then possessively carry him back to 
camp, he made his decision to speak with Lucius this very night. 
Wiping his suddenly sweat slicked hands down his tunic, he fully entered the Generals 
quarters.
“Lucius?”
“Yes Gaius?”
“I must speak with you.”
“About?”
“Clarus.”
Lucius looked up from the table and turned to face his friend with raised eyebrows.
“Oh?”
Gaius took a deep breath then let it out slowly before continuing.
“There’s no easy way of telling you this…”
“Just start at the beginning Gaius.” Lucius said amused at his Captain’s unusual nervousness.
“You remember Sabrina?”
“Sabrina?”
“A consort about ten years ago.”
“Yes, of course.” Lucius smirked as he reminisced. 
“She is Clarus’s mother.” Gaius said boldly. Lucius didn’t catch on immediately, though his 
smile quickly fell. Gaius just waited silently. He saw the light flicker in the Generals eyes as 
he realised what he was being told.  
Lucius stunned, just stared at the man before him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally demanded.
“For the past five years, I’ve thought him dead.”
“And before that?” Lucius snapped. Gaius could only shrug.
“It seemed the best course of action at the time.” He said remorsefully, unable to meet the 
Generals burning gaze. After a few agonising minutes, where Gaius wasn’t sure if he would 
live or die, he heard Lucius whisper.
“Tell me.”
Gaius drew in a deep breath and proceeded to tell Lucius all he knew about Clarus and his 
mother.
“I wish to be alone.” He said. Gaius paused at the door and turned back to face Lucius.
“Lucius…I am sorry. It now seems a grave error on my part to have kept him from you…I am 
sorry.” He turned and quickly left, not waiting for a reply, dare it be a dagger across his 
throat.

Lucius couldn’t believe what his Captain, his friend, had just told him. It was all to bizarre. 
He sat heavily at his desk, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled to his lips.
Eventually rising to his feet, he quietly left his tent and crossed the compound. He carefully 
pulled back the flap to the mess barracks. 
The large tent was lined with a row of ten men along each side. Lucius walked slowly down 
the dimly lit room. The boy was fast asleep at the far end, opposite the chief cook. He stood 
at the end of the bed and watched as his small chest rose and fell as he breathed. 
With his arms crossed, he stood there for a long while, just watching his son as he slept. 
His son! Gods! Lucius smiled into the darkness. Not only did he have a daughter to dote 
over, but now he had a son. And a good one at that. Smart, hard working, brave. Yes Clarus 
will become a fine soldier.
As silently as he arrived, Lucius left, returning to his own bed. The days events finally 
catching up with him as he lay carefully down upon his numerous bruises, and fell quickly 
into a deep slumber.

Minutus watched from his mat as the General stood before the boy for a long while, before 
silently leaving. 
“Well, well.” He muttered. “It seems our General Lucius, is perhaps human after all.”

The next afternoon, Lucius removed the boy from mess duty and moved him from the 
barracks to a small private tent adjacent to his own. 
With that done, now all he had to do, was tell the boy he was his father.
When night fell, Lucius strode from his tent, confident in his task ahead, but as he reached 
the boy’s, he paused and breathed deeply for a moment, before entering. 

Clarus sat uncomfortably on a chair in the centre of the room. He was nervous and barely 
able to stop himself from fidgeting, or bolting for the door.
He didn’t know why he had been moved here, he was sure he was in trouble, but he didn’t 
know what it was he was supposed to have done. Maybe the General wanted him to leave. 
Clarus almost cried at the thought.
“Clarus.”
He rose to his feet to meet the General.
“Yes sir.” He rasped. The General stood quietly over him.
“You have recovered from your fall.”
“Yes, sir.” Clarus kept his eyes fixed firmly to the ground.
“You may sit down.”
Clarus quickly sat stiffly in his chair. Lucius pulled his own chair over to sit directly infront 
of the boy.
“You want me to leave.” The boy suddenly blurted. Lucius just raised an eyebrow at the boy 
and stared at the sudden exclamation.
“No, I do not wish for you to leave.” He finally answered.
The boy glanced up into the man’s blue eyes.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Clarus remained quiet, waiting for the General to speak again. 
Lucius shuffled in his chair, then lent forward and rested his elbows upon his knees.
“Clarus. Your mothers name was Sabrina was it not?” 
Clarus blinked at the unexpected question, then he frowned.
“I have never told anyone my mothers name.” He said suspiciously. Lucius raised an eyebrow 
and waited for him to answer his question.
Clarus glaring, lent back and folded his arms.
“Yes.”
“Do you know who your father is?”
The boy hesitated before answering quietly.
“No.” he ducked his head and glanced at the door.
“Clarus, I knew your mother for a number of years. I am your father.” Lucius said carefully. 
He sat still watching the news fall across the boys face in a marred of emotions.
Clarus wouldn’t look up at him, he could see the muscle in the boys jaw working furiously. 
His nostrils flared as he finally looked up at him.
“No, no you’re not. My fathers dead.” 
“I am your father Clarus.” Lucius said again firmly. This wasn’t going well.
“No!” Clarus leapt from his chair, knocking it over, and bolted for the door. He ran hard and 
fast away from the camp until he thought his heart and lungs would burst. When he reached 
the river, he fell face down to the ground and began sobbing into his arms.

Lucius watched as his son denied him and ran from the tent. He lent back in his chair and 
wiped a hand across his mouth. 
“He’s in shock Lucius. He’ll come around.”
“Will he?”
“Yes. He loves you.”
“How the hell do you know that Gaius!” he yelled rising from his chair, taking a step toward 
the man as he stood just inside the door. Gaius refused to back down.
“The way he follows you around! Emulates the way you hold yourself, speak, he even copies 
the way you eat! Gods Lucius! Open your eyes!” Gaius bellowed back. Why hold back now. 
Lucius glared at the man before him, then before he did something he would later regret, 
brushed past him and stormed from the tent. He turned toward the guard outside his own tent.
”Where?!”
“Toward the river sir.”
He strode off in the direction his guard pointed, calming a little as he walked through the 
crisp night air. He reached the rivers edge and put his hands on his hips as he searched the 
darkness for the boy.
Finally he glimpsed a dark form lying on the grass close to where he was standing. He slowly 
walked toward the child.

“Why do you want me now, when you didn’t want me before.” Clarus rasped his head still 
buried in his arms, having heard his approach. Lucius sighed.
“I wasn’t aware you existed until last night.” 
“Would it have been any different if you had?”
Lucius had thought earlier about what he would have done had he known.
“Perhaps. I do not know.”
Clarus rolled over and sat up, facing his father.
“I’m the bastard son of a whore, how could you possibly want me?”
“Because you are mine.”
Clarus dug his fingers into the soft soil, the tears flowed once again down his face. Closing 
his fingers together he raised his hand and threw the clump at his father.
“How?! Thump. After all, Thump. I’ve had to do, Thump. just to live! How could you 
Thump. want me now?!!” Clarus threw dirt, grass anything his hands came into contact with 
at the man. Blinded by his tears, he didn’t see the remorse, guilt and pain flow across the 
Generals features as the boys words cut into him. He had seen the scars upon his son’s body 
as he had washed him that first day, he could only guess at what the boy had been through.
Lucius moved forward and crouched before his sobbing child and tentatively at first, pulled 
him into his arms. Clarus clung to him for dear life. Lucius sat on the ground and cradled his 
son rocking him back and forth, whispering soothing words into his ear.
The boy had finally stopped crying, but they still held each other tightly. Lucius knew this to 
be a rare moment. To show such emotion and care for ones children was not done, and for a 
General of his stature, it could well be his son’s demise. It wasn’t unheard of for children of 
the wealthy to be taken for ransom, they were rarely returned.
“I used to lay awake at night, praying that you would come and rescue me. And now...you 
came.” Clarus whispered from his shoulder.
“Life will be better for you now Clarus, I promise you this. I’ll always protect you. Do you 
understand me?”
“Yes…father.” 
Lucius squeezed him harder.

Gaius brushed a riotous tear from his eye as he watched the pair from a discrete distance, and 
when he was sure all was well, he turned away, and headed back to camp.

The next few months were much the same as before. Clarus insisted he continue to work in 
the mess, least he get bored and into trouble. Along with the basic training exercises his 
father had insisted he be taught, it all kept him well and truly busy.
The soldiers had not been told of the boys new found relationship to the General, though 
speculation, rumour and innuendo were the prime talking points about the camp.
When they marched, Clarus would walk beside Minutus until he tired, at which point he rode 
behind Gaius or on occasion his father. They had become as close as any Roman father and 
son could be in the time they had been together, perhaps more so. 
Lucius would often take his training lessons himself. Teaching his son to hold and handle a 
sword, ride, and fight hand to hand. It was these times Lucius treasured.

Lucius was lying on the ground, letting his son pin him down as they wrestled. Clarus raised 
his arms in triumph laughing.
“General.”
The pair halted their play and turned toward the voice in unison.
“Yes Lieutenant?” 
Clarus quickly pushed away to allow his father to rise to his feet.
“We have a situation sir.”
“Continue.” The Lieutenant fell to the General’s side as he began to walk back toward the 
compound. Clarus followed at a discrete distance.
“The advanced scout has arrived back sir. They’ve stumbled onto a Celtan army sir, about 
fifteen kilometres north of our position.” He reported rapidly.
“How many.”
The Lieutenant stopped walking.
“At least two thirds of a Legion sir.” He told him soberly. Lucius halted and turned back 
toward his officer.
“You are certain?”
“Yes sir.”
“Clarus, fetch Gaius immediately.”
“Yes sir!”
He watched the boy sprint across the compound to where the Captain was bathing.
“Very well Lieutenant, you may rejoin your detail.” The soldier saluted and hurried back to 
begin preparing his men.
Lucius turned back toward his tent and strode inside. He was leaning his tall frame over the 
war table, when Gaius rushed in, his hair dripping.
“Sir?”
“Prepare the men for battle Gaius. We are going to War.”

By nightfall, the entire camp was battle ready. The guards were tripled, patrols were sent out 
every hour, weapons sharpened and armour polished. 
As Lucius sat next to Clarus, who had come to his tent, he put a hand upon the boys shoulder.
“Clarus. When the battle begins tomorrow, I wish for you to remain with Minutus and the 
carts.”
“But father!”
“No buts Clarus, I do not wish you hurt. It will be a battle of which you are not yet ready, 
even though your skill with the sword has improved much these past months. I will need to 
know that you will be safe.” He gazed intensely into his sons eyes, as he watched him battle 
his young determined allegiance, to fight alongside men.
“I will do as you bid father.” he boy finally resigned.
“Good.” he smiled at the boy and brushed his spiked hair. 
“Can I stay with you tonight?” The boy asked him quietly. Lucius hesitated briefly before 
answering.
“Very well.” 
 Soon the boy was fast asleep in his arms as they lay side by side on his bed. 
Lucius gently stroked his son’s hair as he thought. He had an unsavoury feeling about the up 
and coming battle. But the confrontation was unavoidable. 
The papers Clarus had stolen from the Celtan several months ago had been deemed to be 
correct in their content, with the discovery of the army positioned up ahead of them. 
To hold back or to withdraw his soldiers now could allow the Celtan to further fortify their 
position along the Empires boarder. 
They were two weeks march away from Rome. If he didn’t act now, while they still retained 
the element of surprise, many townships could be lost and the Empire would be dealt a 
harmful blow. He had no choice but to take his son into battle. Even though he should be safe 
enough with Minutus. The soul reason he isn’t exactly a wisp of a man was due to the fact the 
man rarely ever saw the action came his way.
With that small reassurance in mind, he soon joined his son for a few hours of restless 
slumber, before he would have to wake and continue with his preparations.


End Part Five


Clarus - Part Six



All was quiet on the front, but for the sound of armour clinking and rustling, hooves stomping 
and banners flapping proudly in the breeze.
His army was impressive, not only in appearance, but in skill and endurance. In full battle 
regalia, they stood proudly ready, the bright morning sun glinting off the sliver and copper 
armour. Patiently awaiting their Generals order. 

Lucius sat tall in his saddle as he waved his men toward the rise parting his army from the 
enemies. He had contented himself by making sure Clarus was safely back with the cooks 
and carts, before taking up his position at the head of the formation.
Placing his son behind him, Lucius concentrated all of his attention on the battle at hand. His 
scouts had confirmed the Celtan’s current status and position,  his own soldiers were now in 
place and ready to attack.
They began to climb, the ridge was only fifty metres further. 
Revelling and charged with the adrenaline and thrill of the coming battle surging through 
him, Lucius drew his sword. So to did his men. He picked up the pace. The horsemen were 
leading, followed closely by his well armed footmen. 
As he crested the hill he delighted in the sight of the Celtan. They had been caught 
completely unawares. Lucius let roar the final order.
“VINCERE!!”
 The foreign men below scrambled haplessly for their weapons as his army swept down the 
embankment screaming like the Goddess of war herself. 

The armies clashed brutally, the mass of seething bodies holding nothing back as they 
slashed, stabbed, chopped, and bludgeoned each other, until the land underfoot was draining 
rivulets of blood and gore.
Blood sprayed with each savage blow, the screams of the mortally wounded constantly 
piercing the air along with the clang of metal and the sickening suction and ripping of steel 
on flesh.
They fought for over three hours, finally the Romans forced the Celtan into a bloody 
submission. 
Lucius remounted his stead, having been pulled off by a footman eager to slay his first 
General. It had been a deadly mistake on the footman’s part.
 He had spent most of the battle standing shoulder to shoulder with his footsoldiers, swinging 
his sword with the all the grace and skill that only the great General Lucius could. 
He was covered in superficial cuts and bruise’s and the splattered blood of his enemy. But 
was otherwise unharmed, even though every muscle in his body screamed for relief. 
He rode through his men instructing the wounded to be cared for and the dead burnt or 
buried. Finally, he was able to climb the rise again to check on the reserves and servants left 
on the otherside out of harms way. As he reached the crest, he was greeted with a sight which 
caused his battle hardened heart, to turn his burning blood, deathly cold.


Clarus sat atop of Minutus’s cart, excitedly watching as his father led his men up the hill and 
over into the Celtan camp.
They whooped and yelled with the soldiers going over the crest, joining them in their battle 
cries as they swept down upon the enemy.
“How long will it take Chief?” Clarus breathlessly asked the mountain beside him.
“Not long boy, a few short hours at most, I should think.”
They sat in silence listening soberly to the sounds of death and mayhem floating back form 
behind the ridge, knowing many of the screams were from their own.

Minutus suddenly cried out in pain and clutched at his ample thigh.
Clarus looked down and winced at the site of the arrow buried a good way into the cook.
“Clarus, get down boy!” Minutus pulled the boy down with him as he rolled off the cart to 
the relative safety of the ground on the opposite side of the cart to where the arrow had come.
Clarus peered through the cart wheels into the wooded area to one side of the ridge. 
A wave of over a hundred men, were charging through the reserve force toward them.
“We have to get you out of here child!” 
“But they need help!” Clarus yelled, as he watched another Roman fall, helplessly garrotted.
“No boy, there is nothing we can do!”
“The Generals been teaching me to fight Minutus. I can help!” 
“It’s to dangerous Clarus. I promised the General I would keep you safe from harm.”
“I can not stand by and watch them die! They will reach us soon enough whether we flee now 
or not. I’ll not die a coward Chief.” Clarus pronounced strongly, his eyes blazing.
“Don’t go Clarus, he needs you.” Minutus grabbed the boys shoulders to keep him from 
joining the battle building around them.
“He will understand.” Clarus looked the cook in the eye and smiled a determined yet 
resigned smile.
“Stay.” Minutus pleaded, gazing into the boys blue eyes, as he gazed into his, no longer as 
young as he had once been a few months earlier. In fact he was hardly a boy at all.
“I can not.” Clarus reluctantly wrenched himself from the man’s tight grip and stumbled 
toward a fallen Roman and lifted his bloodied sword. He shot his friend one last look and 
disappeared into the throng of raging bodies.
Minutus had tears running from his eyes. The boy was as much a General as his father.

Casting an eye around the multitude of sparring men, Clarus headed toward the soldier he 
saw in the most trouble and began to weld his blade. Hacking into the back of the offending 
Celtan, he brought him down in a single blow.  He moved on to the next soldier without 
pause, putting into practice all the moves and knowledge his father had taught him over the 
past months. He held his own for a time, but he was small and he soon tired. 
Having dispatched of yet another Celtan, he suddenly felt an intense pain course through his 
back. Looking down he gasped as he saw the tip of a sword in his stomach, disappearing back 
into him as it was pulled back out through the entry into his back. He dropped his sword, no 
longer able to hold it’s weight, and fell to his knees. 
Clutching at his wound he fell forward and to the side, leaning against a fallen Roman. He 
gasped for breath as he lay bleeding, the battle blindly continuing around him. He barely 
moaned as another soldier fell upon him. He knew not of which army he was from. He knew 
only of the pain. He whispered for his saviour.
“Father.”  

 The battle of the Reserves ended soon after, leaving a massive expanse of bloodied bodies, 
upturned carts, some had been torched and were ablaze. The putrid stench of bowels, 
stomach fluid, and blood, saturated the air. 
Minutus caught sight of the General as he cantered quickly down the ridge and upon the new 
battlefield. 
Upon reaching him he leapt from his horse and ripped off his helmet.
“Minutus! Where is Clarus!” he demanded glancing around for a glimpse of his son.
“I tried to stop him.” the proud man cried. The General’s gaze settled firmly upon him. 
Lucius crouched beside the wounded cook, grabbing his tunic in his fist.
“Where is he!” 
“He couldn’t stand by General. He took up a sword.” The Chief said quietly. Lucius felt 
dread and fear, grab his heart.
“Where.”
“I last caught sight of him fighting like a veteran over by the second mess cart.”
Lucius abruptly rose and headed in the direction the cook had gestured.
“Clarus!” he called the boy as he stepped over and sometimes on, the corpses of the fallen as 
he feverishly searched the field.
“Clarus!” he called several times.
“CLARUS!” his desperate shout, stilled a few soldiers as they went about bearing wounded 
and bodies.
Gaius heard his General’s shout and moved toward him.

Lucius froze suddenly. Hurrying forward he threw the Celtan from the form of his son.
Falling to his knees he gathered the boy into his arms and upon seeing his gapping wound, he 
whispered the boy’s name in disppear.
“Clarus.”
“Father.” Clarus rasped. Lucius wiped the blood from the boy’s face.
“Clarus. I told you to remain with Minutus.” He said without the firm conviction he had 
wished. He looked into his son’s bright eyes, as blue as his own.
“I’m sorry father, I couldn’t do as you asked, I had to help.”
Lucius gazed at his brave child as he lay dying in his arms.
“Don’t blame Minutus, he couldn’t stop me, though he tried.”
Lucius smiled shakily and nodded.
“I am very proud of you this day Clarus.” He told his son quietly. Clarus reached up as he 
smiled and brushed his fingers down his fathers cheek.
“Don’t forget me father.” Clarus gazed into his fathers eyes.
“Never, my son. I shall treasure you for eternity.” Lucius whispered.  The boys hand dropped 
down and his body relaxed within his arms. Rasping his final breath as the air was forced 
from his small lungs, the brightness dimmed from his eyes.
“Clarus...No...Don’t leave me.” he whispered leaning his head to his son’s and rocking his 
small limp body to his own.  
The landscape about him, went unseen or heard, as Lucius removed his cloak to wrap around 
his child, covering his bloodied body. He rose to his feet, and carrying the much too small 
form, he slowly walked him from the battlefield upon which his son had been slain.

Gaius watched grief stricken, as Lucius lifted his son into his arms and carried him away. As 
he neared he spoke.
“Lucius…” he whispered.
The General brushed past him, seemingly not hearing or seeing him, and continued away 
toward a clearing beside the nearby river.

Lucius laid the boy gently down in the sandy riverbank and proceeded to purposelly collect 
wood from around them to construct a funeral pyre. He would make sure his son’s soul was 
sent to the Gods. It was the least his bravery deserved. 
Finally, he lifted Clarus’s body and placed it atop the two metre high mountain of wood and 
debris. Stepping back, he bent down and grasped the torch he had lit within a small fire. 
Raising the burning torch, he gazed one last time at his son before lowering the torch and 
touching the fire to the dried wood. He made sure the whole of the pyre was engulfed before 
stepping away. He threw the torch upon the blaze and stood watching as the flames and 
smoke took his first born to the heavens.

Gaius watched as Lucius methodically went about building the pyre for Clarus. As the 
General touched the flame to the stack, and stood silently back to watch his son depart, 
Gaius reached down and picked up a piece of drift wood from the ground. Slowly he walked 
toward the pyre. He paused at the roaring blaze and whispered a quiet prayer. Gaius tossed 
the offering into the blaze and moved to stand next to his silently grieving friend. 

A growing group of soldiers gathered a discrete distance away and watched the funeral 
proceedings.
“Who’d have thought the General would be so cut up over a common runt.” A soldier, who 
had not taken to kindly toward Clarus, callously made his remark. It was Minutus who spoke 
from behind.
“Clarus was the General’s son.”
Shocked silence took over the group, and a sense of stunned grief settled over the band of 
Romans. They had all lost friends and fellow soldiers this day.
Minutus, helped by two soldiers, approached the pyre and they tossed their own offerings to a 
boy whom had some how managed to touch all their battle hardened hearts. 
One by one soldiers, officers and servants placed their offerings upon Clarus’s Pyre, until 
finally, Lucius and Gaius were standing alone beside the diminishing fire.

“I was going to take him back to Pompeii with me, even before I knew him to be mine.” 
Lucius rasped quietly, never taking his gaze from the pyre.
“I had guessed as much. I think it’s finally why I told you.” Gaius searched his friends face, 
to try and fathom what he was thinking, feeling, but his features remained as guarded and 
impassive as always. 
“He was a fine boy, Lucius.” He whispered letting the tears his proud General could not 
shed, fall from his face.
“He would have been a great man, Gaius.” Lucius whispered.
Gaius grasped his friends shoulder, then left him to farewell his son alone.

 Lucius remained at the river, well into the night, standing watch over his child until the final 
flame flickered into oblivion. Nothing remained now, but a mound of fine ash. 
Crouching over the cooling ash, Lucius scooped a few handfuls into his tunic and carried 
them over to the waters edge. Stepping out into the gentle flow he carefully scattered the ash 
into the current and watched it disappear, carried away into the darkness. Still, he locked his 
proud tears tightly away.

Two weeks later, the battle weary and exhausted remains of Lucius’s army arrived victorious 
to the cheers of the people of Rome.
They came excited and joyfully on to the streets as the heroic Legion marched by. But the 
cheers soon became subdued as the soldiers trudged sombrely by, their exhausted heads all 
held high, but their eyes and faces grim and sombre, and they were too few. Many families 
would grieve for their sons and fathers this day.
The remaining third of the original Legion, was rewarded for their service and dismissed in 
the city centre, surrounded by the great walls of the newly completed Colosseum. 
Soon after, those whom did not live within the city walls made their own way toward the 
homes and families they had left behind more than a year ago.
Gaius resided in Pompeii as did Lucius and a handful of other ranking officers. They banded 
together with their servants and began the long journey toward the south.

The General rode silently, flanked by his Captain as he halted finally before the first officers 
home. 
A pretty woman and two young children ran from the house, flying into the open arms of 
their husband and father. Lucius watched numbly as Gaius quickly dismounted to meet them. 
Gaius looked up from his joyous family and watched sadly as his General continued on his 
way. Alone, but for his faithful servants.
“Hard journey my husband?” His wife asked quietly as he wrapped an arm around her 
shoulders as they watched the General ride off into the late afternoon sun.
“Yes, my wife.” he replied still looking after his friend. “For some, more than others.”

Lucius reached the welcome sight of his home. He slid gratefully from his horse and handed 
the reins to the waiting stable hand.
He stood for a moment savouring the familiar floral scent of the garden, before slowly 
ascending the front steps. As he reached the foyer he was greeted by a warm cry.
“General! It is so good to have you home again!”
He smiled slightly at the round woman hurrying toward him. Thea was his master servant, she 
cared for his home while he was away campaigning, and for himself while he was residing 
here within it’s walls. She had been in his service for as long as he could remember. She was 
the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known.
“Thank you Thea. It’s good to be home.” he sighed wearily.
Thea looked her master over from head to toe. He looked ready to drop right here in the 
foyer. She smiled warmly as she looked into his eyes. An act he tolerated from her alone. 
They held a sadness she could never recall ever seeing.
Thea reached to take his helmet and passed it on to a young man who had appeared at her 
side. She methodically and skilfully began to unbuckle the remainder of his armour.
“I have prepared a bath in anticipation of your arrival General. Would you like Maria and 
Helene to see to you?” She asked. Knowing the General would often take his baths with the 
younger women upon his arrival home.
She watched as he simply shook his head. She discretely waved the disappointed girls away 
and continued to shed his armour. 
Thea could clearly see her General had not been eating, or sleeping well. He was exhausted.
“Hard journey, my General?” She quietly asked him as she untied his breastplate. His honest 
response doing nothing to ease her growing concern.
“Yes.” he whispered.
She handed the remaining armour to the servant and followed her mater as he wandered 
down the long hallway toward the rear of the building, where the bathhouse lay.


End Part Six


Clarus - Part Seven



He thought his home unusually empty and lifeless as he wandered the hallways to the bath. 
Perhaps the emptiness was but within himself, for he knew there to be over a dozen men and 
women residing inside his walls.
Thea stooped to untie and remove his sandals, as he pulled his tunic up over his head. Slowly 
he descended the steps into the warm and gently scented water. 
Lowering himself slowly to sit upon the smooth marble, he felt the water begin to ease his 
aching muscles. He sighed softly as he felt the water ripple as Thea entered the water behind 
him. He closed his eyes as she began to gently caress his skin clean with a soft cloth.

Thea washed away the dirt and sweat from the freshly scared form of Lucius’s body. She 
could feel the tightness of his muscles under her hands. 
She felt a slight tremble course through his body. 
 She continued to rub his shoulders and back as his features finally crumpled. His heavy tears 
fell from his cheeks, mixing with the clear water below. She reached around and pulled him 
back to her breast as he let out a heart shattering sob. 
She rocked him back and forth as he opened his mouth in a silent cry. He took in a deep 
shuddering breath and sobbed again, clutching at her arms holding them tightly around his 
chest. All the while she whispered soothing words of nonsense into his ear, until eventually, 
he collapsed unconscious into her arms. 
Thea called for two of the stable hands to help carry him out of the bath and to his chamber. 

Motioning the men away after they had gently laid him upon his bed, she dried her master’s 
battered body and covered him with his fine linen. 
Thea pulled a chair close to the bed and she sat by his side, watching him as he slept. She 
gently brushed his brow,  whispering, as she gazed lovingly down at his still form.
“Yes my son. A hard journey indeed.”


<<<<>>>>


 Nick rose from his chair and went to his fathers side. He rested a hand upon his shoulder and 
gazed down at the ancient vampire.
 Lacroix’s gaze never left the burning embers still aglow within the fireplace. He reached up 
a hand to cover his son’s. 
Nicholas. His eternal son. So strongly had he reminded him of Clarus. 
When Janette had shown her new love to him from a distance, he had taken to watching the 
Crusading Knight over the following nights on his own. He was drawn by the handsome 
man’s noble bearing and strength of character and soul. Even now, in this life in darkness, his 
son exudes the light he so diligently seeks, and claims he has lost. 
The loss of Clarus had prompted him to seek out his daughter Divia in Pompeii. Though he 
had not become as close to her as he had Clarus, he had always kept a protective eye upon 
her.  
Lacroix closed his eyes, as he thought of the all too recent events surrounding her death. He 
had built and lit her funeral pyre, just as he had his son’s. Though unlike Divia, he had 
placed Clarus’s death, and life, far out of his mind. It had been the only way he could deal 
with the intense grief he felt at losing his first born, and then, his only son. 
His voice was rough as he finally spoke again.
“I wish never to build a Pyre for you Nicholas.” he spoke quietly and with rare forthrightness 
to his son standing behind him. He felt his son’s hand tighten upon his shoulder.

Nick didn’t trust his voice to say anything aloud, but then there was nothing which needed to 
be said. It was being shown this very moment. He remained silently standing at Lacroix’s 
side for a long while. They watched as the fire died and became nothing but a mound of 
glowing embers.
He realised now where his fathers over-protective streak had come, and perhaps his obsession 
with himself. He also began to fathom Lacroix’s depth of unshed grief for those few he had 
dared to truly love. It was far easier to close one’s heart to the world, than to risk the pain 
which would inevitably come with loss.
Natalie had been right about Lacroix’s broadcast. The guilt and remorse had been his own.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Nick said quietly.
After a moment of silence, Lacroix sighed.
“I should have protected him.”
“You did everything you could have.” Nick felt him stiffen under his hand.
“No, I did not. I should have been there, or he should have been far from the battlefield.”
“You thought he was.”
Lacroix rose abruptly from his chair, and strode to the fireplace. Nick saw his cold 
emotionless mask fall into place once again.

“Don’t.” he said firmly to his sires ramrod back.
“Don’t what Nicholas?”
“Ignore this Lacroix. Don’t go another two thousand years without dealing with this.”
Lacroix turned to glare at Nick.
“I have dealt with this  Nicholas. I dealt with this 2000 years ago. I need not pursue this line 
of conversation any longer.” he snapped harshly.
“Ignoring his existence is not dealing with this Lacroix!”
Lacroix turned back to the fire, and remained silent.
“You made him a promise. You would choose to fail him?”
“I failed him the day he died Nicholas.”
“No. You didn’t. You loved him. It was all he wanted from you.” 
Lacroix spun back around.
“HE WAS MY SON!! And I could not save him!!” he roared. Nick held his ground and 
remained quiet, holding Lacroix’s raging gaze. 

Lacroix had always been nothing but strong and unwavering. Always in complete control. 
Never had he seen such emotion spill forth unguarded from the domineering vampire. Nick 
felt the jolt of enlightenment hit him as he understood now, that even the all mighty Lacroix, 
was once human too, and perhaps he still was.
 He needed to grieve, rage, love, hate, just as he himself had done many times over the 
centuries. Only the ancient had not. How could he? His pride and arrogant bearing, 
forbidding him this act which has always been a sign of weakness to the soldier. 
His peers and friends were few and far between, if any, and he, his only son, had always been 
blind to anyone’s needs other than his own, especially those of his sire.
Lacroix brushed past him and stormed from the room, back into his own.

Nick left the Raven the moment it was dark enough to do so. Lacroix had remained in his 
room ever since returning there earlier. 
A couple of hours later he returned. Glancing around the growing crowd at the bar for his sire 
and not seeing him, he went to the back office and let himself in without knocking.  
“I thought you gone Nicholas?” Lacroix queried from behind the desk.
Ignoring the question, he spoke firmly and in his best  no nonsense policemen’s voice.
“Come with me. I wish to show you something.” he stood hands on hips as Lacroix raised an 
amused eyebrow at his overly brazen behaviour.
“Very well. If you so insist.”
Pure curiosity swayed Lacroix to rise and follow his impertinent son from the room. They 
climbed to the roof. 
“Nicholas, may I inquire as to where you intend taking me?”
Nick just smiled and leapt into the sky. Heaving a tortured sigh, Lacroix reluctantly 
followed.

Nick flew far from the crowded city. The suburban housing, soon faded into the wild hills 
and forests of the native Canadian landscape. 
He set silently down close to a winding, slow flowing river. He moved to retrieve the items 
he had brought here earlier and returned to the rivers edge.

Lacroix set down next to his son as he came out from the bushes carrying something in his 
hands, waiting patiently for Nicholas to explain this little excursion into the wilderness. 
The moon was full and shone brilliantly from the surface of the flowing water. The river  
reminded him of his first sighting of Clarus, as he lay soaking in the sun heated water of 
another river. A river far, far from this one, both in time and space. He immediately pushed 
the maluden thoughts away.

“I know how you hate sentimentality, but I thought this was something which needed to be 
done.” Nick spoke quietly as he came toward him.
Lacroix could better see the objects Nicholas was holding. They were candles.  Japanese in 
style. A small candle nailed to a square piece of wood, surrounded by a wall of rice paper to 
guard the flame against the breeze.
The paper had been decorated in black ink. Nick held out one of the unlit candles to him. 
Hesitating and then keeping his eyes locked to Nicks he took the alms in to his hands. 
Glancing down to the offering in his hand he could see now the decoration. It was ancient 
roman script. 
It was his son’s name. 
He stared numbly at the writing in his hand until Nicholas spoke softly once again. 
“I thought perhaps it time, we let them know...we remember.”
Lacroix took a second candle from his son, this one for his daughter Divia. He could see the 
third was for Nicholas’s beloved sister and his own true love, Fleur.

Nick watched carefully as :Lacroix remained silent. When no angry remark or callous taunt 
seemed forthcoming, Nick continued with the ritual. 
He walked down to the waters edge and stepped out into the water. He waded up to his 
knees, heedless of his shoes and trousers, it seemed fitting that they too should join him in the 
icy water. He was pleased to turn and see Lacroix wading in behind him. 
Nick pulled out a silver lighter from his trouser pocket and lit the candle in his hand. 
“Fleur.” he spoke softly, as if she were standing there beside them.
“I think of you often my fair sister, I shall miss you always.” Nick placed the floating 
platform into the water and let the current pull it from his hand. The candle bobbed lightly 
and flowed along the river, a bright flicker of light against the expansive darkness.
Nick turned to light the candle for Divia. Lacroix held the offering above the water.
“My daughter, I hope you have found in yourself, the happy child you once were.”
He let the candle go. It followed the path of Fleur’s candle, still floating on in the distance.
Finally Nicholas lit the candle for Clarus, tears now running freely down his face. He made 
no effort to brush them away.
“Clarus. My son.” Lacroix gazed into the small flame held gently within his hands.
“Forgive me, my bright one. I shall remember your courage and love for eternity. I shall 
never again forget.” Carefully and with reverence he placed the candle upon the water. He 
held it in place for a moment longer...before finally allowing it to slip gently from his fingers. 
Father and son stood close together in the gentle water, watching as the three bursts of light 
slowly drifted, following their own paths down the winding river. 
Nick glanced at Lacroix as the older man watched his lost son’s candle being pulled away 
from them. The ancients face was awash with grief, a grief as intense as any he himself had 
ever endured. The proud chin finally trembled and his eyes overflowed with millennia of 
unshed tears. 
Finally succumbing to the inevitable, Lacroix closed his eyes and fell into Nick’s embrace.
Nick held tightly to his father as they sobbed quietly upon each others shoulder.

They remained silent, as they each remembered the lives of the family they had together 
loved and lost.
“This never happened Nicholas.” Lacroix’s muffled voice finally said, never relinquishing 
his hold on his son.    
“No.” Nick whispered “This never happened .”
They continued to stand in the river, each comforting the other, until the last candle finally 
flickered and disappeared into the night.

 

Finis.


End part 7






























   




  


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