[Hispania Ulterior, near Corduba, 16th of November 64 BCE]

Bernardus sagged between them, his weight dragging at Valerian's shoulder. The medicus's breath came in short, wet gasps; his tunic hung in tatters, streaked with sweat and blood. Every few steps, his boots scuffed against the packed dirt, leaving faint smears of red behind.

"Careful," Valerian muttered, tightening his grip under Bernardus's arm. "Almost there."

Atticus took the other side "They didn't have to beat a medicus that long." 

"He's just a medicus ordinarius," Valerian answered. "Slightly more privileged treatment, yes, but still not like a medicus cohortis or medicus legionis; those stand just below a centurion."

Atticus and Valerian finally dragged Bernardus to the fort valetudinarium, the air inside thick with vinegar, herbs, and blood. Rows of cots lined the walls, each holding men wrapped in linen and sweat. A medicus looked up from stitching a wound, his hands already red to the wrist.

"Place him on the cot," the medicus said without looking away. "I'll attend to him once I'm finished with this one."

They eased Bernardus down gently. He winced as his back touched the rough linen, his breath catching for a moment before he managed a faint smile. "Thank you… both of you."

Atticus gave a small nod. "No trouble, Bernardus. You helped Valerian first; it's only fair we return the favor."

Valerian leaned against the nearby table, arms crossed. "Friends look out for one another," he said softly

"Hey, at least it's over now; you will just have to wait for the bastard who stole your sword to be caught and you will have your revenge."

"Only if it were so simple, Atticus," Bernardus muttered, his voice rough and tired. "It's only the beginning. They'll fine me twenty-five denarii for losing the sword and an additional twenty-five for a replacement. Fifty denarii, gone in a single night."

He gave a short, bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "Half a year's pay, wiped out for one damned blade. And I don't even have the coin to buy a new one now, not with what's left of my pay."

Atticus frowned. Soldiers were paid only thrice a year, in small installments. For Bernardus, that meant months of hunger before the next payment reached his hands. He really wanted to help Bernardus, but if he did, then he wouldn't be any different.

"Take these to a fenerator in Corduba tomorrow; they aren't worth much, but they will help you for now." Valerian said suddenly, taking off his earrings. He dropped two simple silver hoops into Bernardus's hand.

"Valerian, I can't take your belongings. You'll need those." Bernardus looked down at the silver in his palm.

Valerian waved off the protest. "Nonsense. I won't miss them. And you need the pignera more than I need flashy ears. Take them to one of the feneratores in the canabae outside the walls, or go into the city proper if you feel up to it. It should get you enough for food and perhaps a few cheap linens while you wait."

Atticus rummaged in his own small pouch and pulled out a small, intricately carved bone comb, a gift from his sister. He placed it next to the earrings. "Mine too, Bernardus. Not silver, but the carving might fetch a denarius or two from a collector."

Bernardus clutched the items, the emotion in his face clear despite his injuries. "Thank you, both of you. When my next stipendium comes..."

"Don't worry about it," Atticus said, squeezing his shoulder gently. The medicus who had been stitching the other patient finally finished his work and wiped his hands on a rough cloth. He approached the cot. "Alright, let's see what these thugs did to you, medicus ordinarius."

As the medicus began his examination, Valerian and Atticus backed away, leaving their friend in capable hands. They stepped out of the stifling valetudinarium into the cool evening air of the fort. "Fifty denarii," Atticus murmured, kicking at the dirt. "That's brutal for a common blade."

"It's how they keep us in line," Valerian responded, his voice low and hard. "Make us dependent; make us fear losing our gear more than losing a limb. The Optio will probably have his replacement sword ready and waiting for Bernardus tomorrow, with the loan interest already calculated."

"Well, at least he has something for tonight," Atticus said, looking back towards the building. "We did what we could." Valerian nodded, the shared act of generosity a small defiance against the harsh realities of military life. "Yes. Now, let's go find some wine. I think we've earned it."

[Hispania Ulterior, near Corduba, 17th of November 64 BCE]

Valerian and Atticus exchanged a glance before stepping toward the centurion's pavilion, Bernardus limping slightly between them. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the fort's courtyard. The air still smelled faintly of vinegar and sweat, mingling with the dust kicked up by countless boots.

They approached the door of their commander's small apartment attached to the barracks block. Gaius Marius Rubellus, centurion of the fourth century of the eighth cohort, sat behind a low wooden table cluttered with wax tablets and rolled parchments. His broad shoulders hunched over the documents, hawkish nose twitching as he scribbled with a stylus.

Behind him, the optio stood rigid, gripping his hastile, eyes sharp, scanning the three men like a hawk ready to strike. At the corner, a young soldier bent over a wax tablet, stylus scratching faint lines, recording the day's orders, punishments, and any leave granted.

Bernardus shifted his weight from foot to foot, fingers tightening around the silver earrings Valerian had pressed into his hand. Each step toward the centurion felt like walking into judgment.

"State your business," the optio barked, voice like gravel.

Valerian took a deep breath. "Domine, we request a short leave for our companion," he said, gesturing toward Bernardus. "He is a medicus ordinarius who suffered punishment yesterday. We wish to ensure he receives proper care and food before the nightfall."

The optio's eyes flicked over Bernardus, noting the disheveled tunic and the blood-streaked bandages. "And you are?" he asked, voice like gravel.

"Valerian Valerius and Atticus Aulus, Domine," Valerian replied, keeping his tone firm but respectful.

The centurion's lips pressed into a thin line, a faint twitch betraying the struggle to suppress a smile at the name's redundancy. Bernardus' fingers tightened around the earrings, but a corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Finally, the centurion's gaze hardened, sweeping over the three of them. "A medicus ordinarius, punished yesterday, and you two… guardians? Explain why you are responsible for his welfare, soldiers."

Valerian met the centurion's stare. "He is our companion in service, Domine. I will not leave him to struggle without aid. He is fit to march tomorrow, but tonight he requires care."

The optio shifted, tapping his hastile against the floor. The scribe scratched a faint mark on the tablet. The centurion's eyes lingered on Bernardus, and then finally, he gave a curt nod.

"Very well," he said, voice clipped. ""One night only. Stay longer, and you won't be any better off than him.""

Relief washed over Bernardus in a subtle tremor of his shoulders. He exhaled quietly, glancing at Valerian and Atticus with gratitude that went unspoken.

Valerian inclined his head. "We understand, Domine. Thank you."

The optio barked a final order to the scribe, who scribbled rapidly to mark the leave. Bernardus allowed himself a faint, relieved smile as the three of them turned to leave, the cool evening air of the fort brushing against their faces.