The courtyard was hot and sweltering yet alive with activity, soldiers silently sequestered arms, jewelry, and intact armors away from the dead bodies; siege weapons were dismantled and wagons of the dead were taken out.
By the wall, a wide canopy erected for the wounded hung out from the wall. It shielded a slew of bloodied and bandaged soldiers on straw mats from the sun's unforgiving rays.
Kotys lay on the edge in all but his tunic, old and new scars marked the length of his fairly muscular form, now smeared with dried blood which at the moment, none could tell if it was his or the enemy's.
His eyes idly watched the canopy above as it cut the blue sky, but then, he heard a knock beneath him and it shook.
Kotys couldn't help but glance down.
Next to his mat sat a red-haired youth, about Kotys' age. He peered intently at one of two wooden pillars that temporarily held up the canopy with a hesitant furrow on his brow. He then began banging against it intermittently with a rock, closely scrutinizing it every so often.
Seeing this, Kotys sullenly dropped his head back down with an imperceptible sigh. Resignation, already flooding his eyes, but he attempted to warn regardless.
"Rufus. You'll bring the canopy down on us. So stop!"
Rufus bit his lower lip with an unsatisfied gaze.
"The angle is not quite right." He muttered.
But then he blinked, surprised, as if recognizing the voice, and then he turned.
"Ah. Kotys, you are alive."
He noted in a dry, leveled tone and expressionless face, contrary to his rich, hazel brown eyes, which momentarily bore down on him with a certain intensity.
With the nonchalance in his voice, one could infer that he was disappointed by the fact that Kotys lived. However, Kotys didn't see it that way. He understood him, as not only were they assigned to the same contubernium, sleeping under a tent every time they camped, but they had become friends early on in their military career.
Kotys knew Rufus really cared about him, a fact which made his expression crease slightly in regret every time he thought about it.
As for his lukewarm expression, he knew that was just how Rufus was in most situations, he had a hard time with facial expressions, a trait he empathized with. He felt it was part of the reason that made them close. That, in addition to the fact that they were both Thracians.
Kotys felt he was about to say something more, but all at once Rufus returned his gaze to the wooden pillar, continuing his calculated bashing with a rock.
"The soil is a bit loose here, the wrong type of wind would push it down with ease. I just—"
Amidst Rufus's attempt to justify his actions, Kotys let out a tired sigh, drawing back his attention and interrupting him.
"There are thirty-plus milites under this canopy—half of which are officers. If this canopy comes down while you're knocking on that pillar, the flogging meted out would be too much to bear, even if we both shared the punishment. So cease this folly!"
At this moment, a horseman rode by and stopped just before Kotys.
"What is this yelling? Is Kotys angry again? Haha! Typical!"
It was a slightly older-looking youth with short, wavy, dark hair and bright, desert brown eyes. A slash scar went vertically down across his left brow and eye, but his eye was unharmed.
He was armed and garbed in his equestrian armor set, wearing brown knee-length trousers under his tunic. His helm, loftily held under an arm.
He bent down slightly in his horse and locked eyes with Kotys, an impressed smile playing on his lips.
"New scars? Good."
Kotys looked away with a groan.
"Excellent! It's the vainglorious eques." He muttered.
"Brother Flavius." Rufus greeted, having dropped the rock.
Flavius glanced at him and grinned.
"Ah. Rufus my friend! Look at you bandaged up as well. Good, good. Battle scars are a man's pride and joy! Tells of a victorious milite!"
"Says the eques who only knows how to take a beating," Kotys muttered, deliberately loud enough for Flavius to hear.
"Indeed. Flavius always loses every time you both spar." Rufus idly pointed out.
Flavius scoffed and pulled back, with a taunting look of disdain on his face.
"Why doesn't he mount a horse then? If he's such a paragon of a soldier? Let him fight me under unfamiliar conditions."
Kotys simply rolled his eyes and looked away.
Hearing no reply, Flavius made his horse execute a little backward prance as he straightened with a victorious smirk.
"Thought so. Listen well, brothers! You speak to the greatest horseman in this cohort! It would not be long before I am summoned to ride alongside Emperor Trajan himself!"
"Decurio Sabazios is better," Rufus stated, and Kotys glanced at him with a smirk. "It's not even an argument."
Statements to which Flavius let out a grin as rivalry burned in his eyes.
"For now..." He savily conceded.
After a moment, Rufus examined him and inquired.
"Where are you going, Flavius?"
He glanced back at some horsemen galloping out of the gate before turning to Rufus.
"They say a Provincial Governor is on the way here. My turma is heading out to bolster security."
Then he put on his helmet and smiled.
"I should be leaving now. I think my turma is about ready to go."
Rufus nodded and Kotys merely stared.
However, before Flavius turned to leave, he glanced back at Kotys.
"Ah, right! Almost forgot! Your father wants you to see him at his tent."
That said, he rode off, following behind a few more horsemen.
Kotys let out a sigh and stood up, grabbing his tunic.
"You should rest a little," Rufus recommended.
"I've rested plenty; besides, my father wouldn't ask to see me if it wasn't important."
"Alright then." Rufus looked away.
Kotys glanced at him for a moment and let out an imperceptible sigh before walking away.
–––
The tent was cool with a slight humid scent. It was small with a rather tame setting, a straw mat bedding, a seating stool, and a small writing table filled with parchments.
However, the tent was empty with no father to be seen.
Kotys curiously looked around until his eyes spotted an open parchment on the table.
He paused and glanced back before tiptoeing forth to take a look. Slowly sitting down, his eyes settled on the contents, focusing on the heading.
'Tabellae Militaris.'