The Legate was nowhere to be seen the next pre-dawn morning, yet like a recurring bad dream, we had our normal complement of Tribunes, including Paullus. However, somewhat to our surprise, he seemed content this time to let our Primus Pilus command the Legion, but I surreptitiously studied the Tribune's face as he sat on his chestnut stallion. His complexion was even more sallow, and his lower lip stuck out in a look of petulance that reminded me of the way my mother and father described me as a child when I did not get my way. And, I remember thinking, that’s probably not very far off the mark; he is a spoiled child, used to being indulged and getting everything he wants. However, I also noticed that unlike the last time, at least two other Tribunes dared to sit on either side of the broad stripe, and it did not take long to determine this was anything but voluntary on the part of Paullus. Whenever he turned his horse and moved it, they went with him, and when they turned at the right angle, I saw that the pair were Claudius and the other Tribune the Legate had charged with escorting Paullus away. I was not alone in my observation.
"It looks like our broad stripe has earned himself a pair of babysitters," Avitus commented.
"As long as they keep that bastard out of our hair, I'm fine with that." This came from the man on the other side of Avitus, Vibius Sido.
There was a murmur of agreement from all of us who heard him say it, but then the orders were given to begin the march. This time, however, we managed to march out of the forum, through the Porta Praetoria, and head north without incident. And not long after that, a brief halt was sounded by the Primus Pilus, and the order given to unlash and uncover our shields, although we still would move in close order for a bit longer. As we were doing so, I heard the sound of a trotting horse, and I looked over my shoulder to see Paullus heading up the column. Judging from his face, I was sure we were going to be subjected to another scene.
"By the gods," I heard Ventidius, who marched directly behind me when we were in column, groan at seeing the same thing, "hasn't that stupid bastard learned yet?"
"Apparently not," someone else said, but before anything bad happened, I spotted a pair of Tribunes closing quickly, their horses at the canter.
Paullus clearly heard them coming, because he took a quick glance over his shoulder, then went to the canter as well, which, of course, forced Claudius and the other Tribune to go to the gallop, so they caught up with Paullus just to the rear of my Century. I looked over to where Urso was standing a few feet away, but while he was staring back at the trio, arms folded, he did not say anything. Although I could hear the sound of them arguing, it was not until that night when we made camp that the exchange was relayed around the fire. And I am sure that, by the time it reached the ears of the First Section, it had been…embellished a bit. Nevertheless, I am confident the essence of the disagreement was the same as what was related to us.
"I just want to find out why Canidius is wasting time!" Paullus had supposedly said, but the pair were unmoved.
"You know that you're specifically forbidden from interfering in any way with the Legion!"
Since the men who relayed this did not know their identities, I do not know if it was Claudius or the other Tribune who gave us this bit of cheery news.
"Demanding to know what's going on isn't interfering!"
Supposedly, Paullus had shouted this, but then one of his guards had grabbed the bridle of his horse and they had unceremoniously hauled him back to the middle of the column. Unlike our first encounter with the Tribune, this time, Urso had directed that the "command group" actually be located all the way back to the exact middle of the column. I suppose he thought the longer distance would discourage Paullus from doing the kind of thing we were talking about, and I will say he did not show his face the rest of the day, or the part of the next before we reached the southern edge of the area where the rebels were supposedly located. As for me, at the end of the first day of the march, I was exhausted again. More importantly, I discovered a very discouraging but valuable fact; as much work as I had done with the shield, the kind of strength needed to hold your furca on your shoulder comes from completely different muscles, and it became clear that at least a part of those muscles had been cut away as well. One thing I had noticed when I held a shield that turned out to be even more pronounced with the furca was my inability to straighten out my fingers. Even now, all these years later, when I am not conscious of it, the fingers of my left hand curl inward to the point where it is almost a fist. However, while I can now open my hand when I think about it, that soon after my wound, I had to use my right hand to pry my fingers open. Which, as one might imagine, is somewhat awkward to do. I did my best to hide this from the rest of my comrades, but when we stopped to make camp, and the First drew the most hated task of digging the ditch, Urso called me aside and curtly informed me that I was to be his runner. A sign of my fatigue was that I was only too happy to comply with him, not arguing in the slightest. However, as bad as the first day was, the next morning was even worse and, for the first time, I felt a real stab of concern about what might happen if Draxo decided not to wait. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I had convinced myself that I would have enough time to march my way back into being completely fit for everything that might lie ahead. I know how foolish it sounds now, but despite being a veteran in terms of drawing and spilling blood, I was still not that experienced. At the time, however, I was too callow to see and understand this; all I knew at the time was that I had to find the strength inside me. When we arrived at the spot just south of the rebel sanctuary and I got a good look at the ground we would be entering, it was a daunting sight that caused my stomach to knot up. The level ground where our camp was to be built bore the scars of what I could see was more than one camp; by my guess, at least three previous times, either the 8th or one of the other Legions had taken advantage of the last spot large and level enough to suit our needs, and I would be lying if it did not cross my mind that one of those old camps was probably the one from which my father marched.
That night, the mood was subdued, to put it mildly. The anxiety of those men who had gone into this area before fed the same in those of us who had not, but whereas most of the time, the veterans who have gone through some experience are usually merciless in their teasing of those who have not, such was not the case that night. We talked; I should say they talked, and I and those like me listened as they did their best to describe the lay of the land in terms that would be useful to us.
"None of the hills are all that high." Caecina was the one who was talking, and the fact that he did not have a glimmer of a smile, nor did he make any jokes whatsoever, was probably more instructive than his description. "But they're all so fucking steep that when a man climbs the slope and stands erect, he can almost reach straight out and touch it!"
I thought this was probably an exaggeration, then a glance over at Bestia and a couple other men who I knew had been here before seemed to deny that as they nodded somberly.
"But it's how thick the trees and underbrush are that makes it so fucking dangerous," he went on, and I noticed that he was unconsciously rubbing his milky eye, and it gave me a hint how, or at least, where he had lost that eye. "And these cunni are experts in moving around those hills."
"But I thought this wasn't Colapiani land," Domitius spoke up. "So they won't know it as well as the…" His face screwed up for a moment as he tried to remember which tribe claimed this area. "…Latobici, right? That's whose land this is?"
"It's Rome's land." Bestia' voice was harsh. "That's why we're here! To remind these savages that this is part of Rome now."
Despite seeing the heads of most of my comrades bobbing up and down, I could not refrain from pointing out, "That's certainly true…written on a scroll," I said. "But it's pretty clear that at least Draxo doesn't see it that way."
The mention of the man who was seen as the unprovoked cause of our sitting in this spot naturally evoked a round of cursing, both of the verbal kind and those made with a gesture or spitting on the ground. Without thinking, I felt my eyes move over to Caecina, who was standing just behind the ring of seated men across from me. As I mentioned before, while we live together in a hut, on the march, we are split into two groups, so that in appearance, we are just a normal section. But the tents for each section are aligned directly across the Century street from each other, and although we each have our own fire, usually men gravitate from one to another, or in the case that night, were either seated or standing around one fire as we talked; this night, it just happened to be the fire of my part of the section. If he felt my eyes on him, he studiously avoided my gaze. Domitius was in his usual spot next to me, and I saw him turn his head to glance at me, and I briefly regretted telling him all that had happened the day I had been with Urso and the Optio Cossus in the Second, who, I suddenly remembered, was also dead in the ambush. But before my mind could go in a direction that ultimately would lead to nothing but trouble, I stopped myself, thinking how unlikely it would be that Urso was behind the deaths of at least two men who were part of his muscle. That, I thought, would require a level of control and planning that just did not seem possible, even for a man as clever and resourceful as Urso.
"I don't care how Draxo sees it," Bestia countered my statement, at least once the uproar had died back down. "We're the ones who decide things like that, not some barbarian cunnus."
"But why are they so hard to find?"
This came from one of the men from the other tent who was standing behind me; I am not sure, but I believe it was Geta, the newest addition to Caecina's group.
"Because of the caves," I spoke up, again without thinking. "They're all over the place, in the rock. I think it's because it's travertine."
"And how by Cerberus' balls do you know that?" Dentulus scoffed. "You weren't with us the last time we came up here!"
"Remember who he is," Caecina cut in. "He grew up here, and his father was up here too."
"Oh, that's right." Dentulus looked away from my direction. "I forgot."
"But, how big are the caves?" Geta asked. "I mean, I heard from one of the clerks in the Praetorium that there's ten thousand of those bastards in there!"
This caused an eruption of noise as men either added their own piece of information, argued about the validity of some unnamed clerk, or offered their opinion about the entire business, all at once. Finally, Caecina got us settled down, but it took him bellowing at us to be quiet.
"The Colapiani couldn't field ten thousand men if they pulled babes from the tit and put a tiny sword in their hand," he scoffed. "If they have five, that would be stretching it." He shook his head adamantly. "There's no ten thousand men waiting for us."
There was a moment of silence, and then I heard my voice, even as a part of me cringed.
"That's true," I agreed, but before anyone could interject, I pointed out, "But where we're at is right at the place where Colapiani, Latobici, and Varciani territory runs into each other. And I don't think it's likely that the Colapiani are using this place without the knowledge of the other two tribes. And if they know about it, I think it's possible that at least one of them has thrown in with Draxo. Especially," I did not particularly like adding this last thought, but I felt like the men around me should at least know why I thought this way, "now that they've probably heard that Draxo hit us at The Quarry and got away."
For just a moment, there was total silence, then suddenly, men began talking again, but this time to whoever was closest to them. Which meant that Domitius turned to glare at me.
"Thanks, Titus," he said bitterly. "That just made my night."
Not long afterward, we retired to our respective tents to get what rest we could. I lay there trying to straighten out the fingers of my left hand, but I was never successful before I fell asleep.
While the day started normally, the bucina sounding the call that signaled the start of the day, it became apparent very quickly that something was happening in the Praetorium. One of the advantages of being in the First of the First is that those of us in its ranks have a closer view of the Primus Pilus, and access to information more quickly than in other Cohorts. Even the difference between how swiftly I heard about new developments in the First compared to the Fourth was significant, despite the fact that the Fourth is traditionally one of the first line Cohorts. Consequently, Tiburtinus let us know in very sparse terms – the details we added ourselves – what was taking place as the sun continued to rise in the sky.
"There seems to be a…difference of opinion about the best way to proceed," was how Tiburtinus put it, his mouth a grim line that was instructive in itself.
"Paullus?" Caecina asked.
Tiburtinus shrugged, but gave Caecina the answer in a look.
"Pluto's cock," someone raged. "I thought the Legate put a muzzle on his yapping dog!"
The fact that the man who said this did so loudly enough for Tiburtinus to hear, yet the Optio chose to ignore it, is an example of the ways in which the men in command of a Century can let their rankers know that, not only is their characterization accurate, but that the hearts of a Centurion or Optio are still marching with their comrades. It was a valuable lesson, and while I had first learned this from reading my Avus' account, not only did my father add to it, seeing it in action firsthand in this moment was important. Now we were paralyzed as, presumably anyway, Urso fought Paullus' conviction that just by virtue of his birth, he was more qualified to decide the appropriate next step. Consequently, the first full watch of the day passed before we were summoned to the forum to find Urso and the Tribunes waiting. I say the Tribunes, but it was not the full complement of them; conspicuously absent was Paullus, meaning that it was Claudius who stood next to Urso.
"He's probably sulking," was Avitus' guess, but somehow, I did not think that was the case, and I said as much.
"More like he's tied up in the Praetorium," I commented, and I was pleased to hear a ripple of snickers around me.
As was his habit, our Primus Pilus did not waste time on the formalities.
"We march today, but not in full Legion order," he began.
Although this was expected by most of us, it still caused a wave of anxiety through the ranks, and looking across to the far side of where Urso was standing, even from a distance I could see the men of the higher Cohorts were not taking this well. It is impossible for me to say with any real accuracy but my suspicion is that the veterans marching in those Cohorts had not helped matters any, if the manner in which my more experienced comrades were acting in the First was a guide. As Urso continued, he gave the specific dispositions, except that what was unusual, at least judging from the reaction of those around me, was how he divided his forces. Rather than the more customary manner of dividing his Cohorts in the same way as we lined up for battle, Urso demonstrated his shrewdness and the understanding of a Primus Pilus who was intimately familiar with his Legion. The composition of the only grouping that really concerned us of course was the First and, as normal, the Second was included with us. However, the Second was still severely understrength because the casualties they suffered at The Quarry had yet to either return from the hospital or be replaced. We were better off, but our ranks were still thinned; Philo was gone, of course, but only Glabrio had sufficiently recovered to march, although he still had a noticeable limp, and the other sections were about the same. Therefore, Urso selected the Sixth Cohort, but in a surprise, no other Cohort would be marching with us. The Third was the leading Cohort of their detachment, composed of the Fifth, Eighth, and Tenth Cohorts, while the Fourth was joined by the Seventh and Ninth. In this way, Urso had done what he could to closely balance each group in numbers if not fighting quality, but I could not smother the feeling of concern at my former comrades in the Fourth being teamed with two Cohorts that did not have as much experience. Specifically, I was concerned that the Ninth was with them; they were the worst Cohort in the Legion by far, their Pilus Prior still the same man who had purchased his posting and who had allowed his Cohort to stand idly by the year before when our column was attacked by Marcomanni. Consequently, Asinius, Tuditanus, Galens, Corvinus, Metellus, Tuditanus, and Figulus were just a few of the faces that flashed through my mind as I offered up a silent prayer for them.
With the dispositions made, Urso informed us of our task for at least that day, although given the late start, we were not optimistic that we would accomplish much. Our goal was to precisely locate Draxo's band, along with whoever had joined with them. The 13th had approached from the north from Poetovio, and were arrayed in a line of Cohorts arranged on an east/west axis. However, although we had initially thought the 15th was too far south, deeper in Colapiani territory, we learned that even as Urso was giving us our orders, they were marching north and were expected by nightfall. They would position themselves along the western border of this area, while we blocked the southern escape route. Only to the east was there a possible avenue for Draxo to evade us. Directly east were the Varciani, and what anyone who lived in Pannonia for a significant length of time knew was that, if we flushed the Colapiani from this area and they headed into Varciani territory, it was highly likely that Draxo would be unable to keep his unruly warriors from falling on any small Varciani settlement as they skulked back to their own lands. At least, according to our sources in the Praetorium, this was what the Legate was counting on happening. Of course, if our fears that the Varciani and Colapiani had actually joined forces were realized, then we had a whole other set of problems. First, however, we had to find them, which was not a given, considering the fact that this area extended more than twenty-five miles from east to west and about fifteen miles north to south. Contained within were heavily forested hills, and even from where we were standing in the camp forum, I could see them looming just a mile to the north. Urso's final orders were for every Cohort to leave one Century behind in this camp, the idea being that we would be returning to camp at the end of the day. If all went according to plan, we would have located either the enemy themselves, or a sufficient sign of them to indicate exactly where they were in the maze of ravines, draws, and pocket valleys. Keeping in mind what I had learned from Galens about our supply situation being so desperate, I believe that it is not a leap of imagination to assume that, in the Legate's mind, this would be a simple operation; one day to find them, the next day to wipe them out. I cannot speak for my comrades, yet despite my relative inexperience, I had tasted enough of battle and campaigning to view this with some hearty skepticism. Just from the facial expressions of my comrades, they were of a like mind. Nevertheless, we were dismissed to prepare to march out of camp in a sixth part of a watch, meaning that we had to hurry.
It was immediately after we marched out that we learned the specifics of where each column was marching. We also found out we would be accompanied by three Tribunes, and it probably does not take much guesswork to determine who it was. Urso was clearly unhappy about it, yet somewhat to my surprise, as I watched the quiet but intense argument between our Primus Pilus and the fine young men, I saw it was in fact Claudius who took the lead, making gestures that, although they were no less emphatic than I had seen from Paullus, somehow, did not seem to be aimed at Urso. Instead, he pointed to the other Tribune while completely ignoring Paullus, who sat his horse a few paces away from the others, clearly sulking. I had at least learned the name of the second Tribune; Marcus Sempronius Libo, although he went by Sempronius, and who seemed content to let Claudius do the talking. Finally, Urso threw up his hands in a gesture that indicated he surrendered. As far as the rest of us, we were marching without packs, shields unlashed and uncovered, carrying only our javelins and canteens. However, we also were told to carry our sagum, which we rolled up and slung around our necks. Like the rest of my comrades, this was also where I squirreled away several chunks of bread, a hunk of salt pork, and one small, hard cheese. To save space and weight, only a couple of us carried our fireboxes with us as well, although I knew we all hoped we would have no need for any of it. Tiburtinus made his inspection of each of us, checking that we were all properly equipped and prepared.
While Urso trotted off to confer with the commanders of the other two contingents, Tiburtinus stood next to Flaccus and me, chatting quietly.
"It's just a fucking shame that we killed Draxo's son at the ambush." Tiburtinus shook his head. "Because we might have been able to stop all of this cac from happening."
This confused me; it was the first mention I had heard about a son of the rebelling chieftain, so I asked idly, "When did that happen? I don't remember it."
I sensed Flaccus suddenly shifting his weight next to me, then he and Tiburtinus exchanged a glance.
"It was when you were trying to reach the Primus Pilus," Flaccus provided the answer, but he still kept shifting from one foot to the other, which I found irritating.
Since it was Tiburtinus who had brought it up, I suppose that led me to assume he had more knowledge of it, but when I asked him if he had seen it, he shook his head.
"It happened on the far side from where I was at," was all he said, which further deepened my confusion.
"You mean, it was on our side of the fight?"
When Tiburtinus nodded I looked to Flaccus, except he seemed intent on looking everywhere but at me, and I believe this was the first it dawned on me.
"What," I asked slowly, "did he look like?"
"He was young," Flaccus answered, but I was not satisfied.
"So I gathered, being Draxo's son." I could not keep the frustration I was beginning to feel from creeping into my voice. "What else?"
Flaccus shrugged, saying he did not really recall, but Tiburtinus apparently did not feel I should be kept in the dark.
"He had good quality armor and clothes like you'd expect," he said, but then he added quietly, "His choice of weapon was…unusual."
My heart sank, the memory of a man just a bit older than I was, carrying an axe with an especially long handle coming to my mind. Then I remembered the moment just before I killed him; he had begged for mercy, and was saying something about his father when I plunged my sword into his mouth. Suddenly, my body did not seem strong enough to wear my armor, and I felt dizzy, closing my eyes.
"This," I did not recognize my voice, "is my fault."
"That's not true, Pullus." Flaccus put his free hand on my good arm, causing me to look at him as he shook his head. "You did your job! You had no way of knowing that was Draxo's son," he finished forcefully.
"Only because I didn't let him finish what he was trying to tell me," I shot back, the bitterness of the words twisting my mouth. "But I was…" I stopped, neither knowing how to describe these fits of mine, nor wanting to acknowledge aloud that I experienced them at all.
"You were doing what you were trained to do." Tiburtinus essentially repeated Flaccus' words, his tone no less adamant. "Besides, there's no way of knowing that Draxo would have agreed to stop the uprising in exchange for his son."
"Then why did you bring it up?" The words were out before I could stop myself, but while Tiburtinus flushed, it was not from anger as much as embarrassment.
"Because sometimes, I run my mouth and say the wrong thing at the wrong time," he admitted.
Our Optio showing any kind of remorse for his words was such a rare occasion I felt my mouth drop open in shock; when I glanced at Flaccus, I saw he was no less surprised.
"Why, Optio," I was happy that Flaccus was the one who spoke, "is that an apology?"
Tiburtinus' face hardened, and he shot back, "Fuck, no." Then, a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips and he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
I cannot say that he meant to make us laugh, but he did and, for the moment, what was facing us was forgotten. Unfortunately, this escape could not last; Urso returned, and in a matter of a few dozen heartbeats, we were marching out of the Porta Praetoria, all of us leaving the camp warning the Centuries left behind to keep their thieving hands off of our possessions. Of course, as any of us with any experience knew, that was a forlorn hope, which was why all those things I considered valuable had been left behind, locked in my strongbox back in Siscia.
The location of our camp in that spot, as I quickly deduced, was no accident, which also explained the signs of older camps in that same area, because it was next to what was more than a stream yet not quite a river that led deeper into our search area as we followed it upstream. This was our passage into the interior and I could see there was a road, just a beaten path following the course of the stream just wide enough for a wagon with perhaps a pair of outriders on either side, but that was all. One difference that it took me some time to get accustomed to when I transferred to the First was that, whereas in the Fourth, because I was a tiro, and a replacement at that, I was actually in the last rank, although that was not the case now. In the Fourth, even with my height, when we were on the march the packs of the men in front of me obscured my vision for the most part, allowing me to catch only the occasional glimpse of what lay ahead. Now, however, being in the first rank gave me an unobstructed view of what lay ahead; the fact that in the event of an ambush, because of my size and position, I was likely to be one of the first targets was not lost on me either. On that day, as we reached the base of the first of the series of hills and ridges, I could see the road we were using curving off to the left and out of sight, following the course of the water. While the rational part of my mind seriously doubted that the enemy would attempt an ambush just as we were entering this area, our foe undoubtedly understanding this would be a moment where we were at our most alert, I cannot say my heart did not start beating faster. Even before we reached the bend, however, Urso had called for the last section of our Century to run forward, to act as a screen, and provide advance warning. What he did not do was dispatch a section out on the flanks, although that came as no surprise to me because, when my comrades were describing the terrain, they had warned us the slopes were too steep. At least if we did not plan on sacrificing a couple sections of men because they could not possibly hope to keep pace with us, and would probably disappear. Despite knowing this, it did not help my state of mind, nor I imagine the others as well and, very quickly, my neck began to hurt as I kept my eye up the slope to my right. Not, I thought dismally, that it will give us much warning; I could see perhaps twenty paces up the slope before the thick undergrowth screened anything beyond that from view. No command was given for no more talking; it was not needed, making the only sound the crunching of our hobnails, the clinking of metal bits, and the occasional skittering sound of a pebble being kicked by one of us. At that point, the water was not running swiftly, and it was deep enough that it ran silently in the opposite direction, but while that told me we were moving uphill, the slope was so gradual I could not feel it, at least at first. Navigating what turned out to be just the first bend, I was dismayed to see that just about a hundred paces ahead, the stream curved back in the opposite direction, disappearing from sight again. Such was the nature of our progress; curving back and forth, so there was no stretch of more than two hundred paces visible at any given time, while the hills hung over our heads. The only blessing, I remember thinking then, was it was not as bad as the Black Forest, where the trees are so thick they block almost all light. While relatively narrow, this depression formed over only the gods know how long by the stream was too wide for trees to arch over it and block the light, although the sun passing from our right to left was blocked by the shoulders of both ridges for much of the day. And, I reminded myself in an attempt to find something to cheer me up, at least the footing was solid and not the stinking, slimy muck that pulled men down, especially men as heavy as me, up to mid-calf. Unfortunately, that was where the good news ended, and was signaled by our arrival at a spot where another stream intersected with the one we were following. Stopping briefly, Urso called a quick conference with the two Pili Priores, but they made sure to walk far enough away so we could not overhear. As they talked I examined the spot where, I had a sinking feeling, we were going to turn. Comparatively speaking, the difference made this dirt track we were on look like a good Roman road.
"How the fuck are we supposed to march up that?" I wondered aloud. "And have enough room to fight?"
"The only way I can see," Avitus replied glumly, "is if we're the lucky bastards who have to wade up that fucking stream."
Since the intersecting stream that led us deeper into the interior was south of the track, that put it to our right. And while we could barely fit on the first road, even closed up, there was no way for us to do the same on this path without at least Avitus and me wading in the water. Even then, we would barely fit in our normal marching column width, but Urso had thought of that. When he gave us the order, I did not know whether to laugh or cry, because Avitus and I would be spared sloshing upstream for the gods only knew how long. However, in order to do so, Urso ordered that, instead of our normal eight-man-wide marching column, we reduce it down to four men. The benefit was not only would it allow Avitus and I to keep our feet dry, we could do so in a more open, fighting formation than if we remained eight across. It would still be narrower between our files than normal, but it was better than being shoulder to shoulder. Of course, while I was thankful about not getting wet, immediately following was the recognition that, in the event of an ambush from one side or the other we would only be four deep, at the most. If the ambush was planned to hit simultaneously from both sides, however, I would have only Avitus to relieve me, while Sido would be Glabrio's only relief; even worse, it would be next to impossible for men further back along the column to come to our aid. Naturally, the anxiety of a Gregarius about being in a vulnerable position without his accustomed level of support was unlikely as a factor in Urso's decision. Now, with more experience and in a similar position as a Centurion, I understand this was the best choice from an array of bad ones, and thankfully, before I had time to think about it more, we were resuming the march.
By the time the sun was a hand's width above the hills behind my right shoulder, I doubt we had covered more than three miles; even worse, we had seen no sign of the enemy. The only real blessing as far as I was concerned was that, by halving the width of the column, it was correspondingly even longer, putting the trio of Tribunes, who were marching behind the Second but in front of the Sixth, far enough behind us they either deemed it too far or not worth the trouble to push their way up the column. Of course, the fact that in a last-instant decision, Urso made them leave their horses behind, so they would have been forced to use their legs helped. We stopped once more, except this time, Urso went trotting down the column to save time, while Avitus, Flaccus, Capulo, I and a couple of others huddled together, holding our own discussion.
"If we don't turn back now," Avitus said glumly, "we're going to be covering the last couple miles back to camp in the dark."
There was a mumble of agreement from one or two of the others, then I noticed Flaccus did not seem to be one of those whose head nodded.
"What do you think?" I asked him, and the Signifer shifted uncomfortably, but I caught him shoot a look to Capulo, reminding me that standard-bearers tended to be of a like mind. And, they tend to know more than the rest of their comrades.
"I think," he said finally, "that…"
"All right, you cunni," Urso's booming voice cut him off, "I don't remember telling you to fall out of the ranks and have a chat!"
Scrambling guiltily back to our respective spots, I glanced at the Primus Pilus as he strode past to resume his spot, but as always, his face was unreadable. Then, without any hesitation, he gave the order to resume the march, yet continue in the same direction. Avitus and I exchanged a quick glance, his dismay a reflection of my own feeling, although naturally, we did not hesitate, stepping off behind our Primus Pilus. No matter what our personal feelings, we were with him and would support whatever he had decided.
About a third of a watch after that, we had covered no more than a mile, and it was becoming clear that our Primus Pilus had no intention of marching us back to camp. The only mystery to us was whether he ever had any intention of doing so; somehow, I doubted it, and the events that transpired later proved my assumption was correct. I will say that the spot he chose was probably the best location because it was the widest expanse of what passed for flat ground that we had seen; I had no way of knowing at the time that his choice was no accident because he had been there before. Naturally, this did not come without a corresponding problem; the reason for the widened spot was that there was not one, but two watercourses, although both were dry, intersecting with the one we were traversing. As we approached from the west, the first cut, about the same size as the one we were on, intersected from the north, to our left. Then, perhaps two hundred paces farther along, coming from the south was another cut, slightly wider than the one from the north, but still narrower than the one we used to penetrate into the interior. Compounding the danger, both of these intersecting ravines exhibited the same characteristic of every one of these natural paths, so that because of their serpentine winding, we could not see much farther than a hundred paces up the cut to the left, and barely fifty paces up the cut to the right. Additionally, the cut to the right intersected at such an angle that if we wanted to at least see those fifty paces we would have to station men farther east, along the path we were traveling. While this could be viewed as a positive; any force using the southern cut might be able to get closer before launching an attack, but when they turned back to the west where the widest area, and the bulk of us, was located, they would expose their rear to however many men Urso placed on the far side. Nevertheless, like everything with this situation, it was a double-edged blade. I know that fresh in my mind was Draxo's cunning move with the ambush at The Quarry, so it did not take much imagination to think if we placed men on the opposite side of that cut coming from the south, it was equally likely that Draxo would send men straight down this path we were following from the east to slam into that blocking force's rear. This wider part of the ravine we were following was, relatively speaking, the largest expanse of open ground we had seen since we left the camp, opening out a bit like a bowl, with the surrounding hills acting as the sides. Certainly not large enough for a proper camp with ditches and walls, even for three Cohorts, but comparatively speaking, it was marginally wider than the ravine we had followed originally. At the same time, all of us were acutely aware that, surrounding us were those fucking ridges, their slopes covered in poplar, birch, and a number of other types of trees, along with thickets of thorny bushes and thick clumps of undergrowth. If it had been three months later, it would not have been so bad, since the leaves for most of these trees would be gone, but this was the height of summer, and every piece of vegetation was fully leafed and blooming. Urso directed us in the First, Second, and Third Centuries to march a short distance past the easternmost cut from the south and, as we passed by, since it was to my immediate right, I examined it as closely as I could in the time it took to move past it. What I saw was not pleasing, and that is putting it mildly. While it was true that one could see about fifty paces up the cut before it made what looked like an abrupt turn to the left, just the part that I could see was so choked with shrubs and scrub vegetation that even a warrior with a modicum of ability in stalking could easily navigate even closer, and that was in daylight. The only real question was how many enemies had those skills and could conceivably fit while remaining concealed.
We were halted by Tiburtinus and, relaying orders from Urso, the Optio ordered us to open our ranks back to their normal spacing, but still only eight men across. However, he also had the first four ranks, meaning the First and Second Section, continue facing eastward, allowing us to ground our shields, but that was all, while the remainder of the men were allowed to turn about to listen to what was expected of them next. Naturally, that meant the decision about our immediate futures was taking place behind our backs, but after Tiburtinus threatened a man in the Second Section with a flogging for insisting on turning around to listen, and using a tone that told us he meant it, we resigned ourselves to finding out later. And, I remember thinking sourly, they'll get a better idea about how this is all going to work. Even with the Second Cohort understrength, there was barely room for three full Cohorts, at least if Urso expected to have any real space between us as we slept. That room is crucial, but not just for comfort or having to worry about the man on either side of you rolling over and bumping into you in the middle of the night to scare the cac out of you. If we were attacked, we needed that space to leap up, arm ourselves, then be able to move wherever we were directed by our Centurions without crashing into each other in the dark. Despite not being able to see what was happening behind me, my ears told me of yet another quarrel, and it did not take much imagination to guess who was objecting to stopping at this spot. Neither could I help noticing how long my shadow was growing in front of me, although I tried to keep my eyes up and scanning the area farther in front of me. Attempting to peer between the trees and undergrowth lining the slope ahead of us, I finally gave up trying to see more than that hundred paces, choosing instead to concentrate on opening my left hand all the way; I could not, but at least my fingers were flexing wider than they did just a few days earlier.
"All right, First Century! Follow me!" Tiburtinus bellowed as he came walking away from the group of men clustered around the Primus Pilus.
I turned, except he continued walking past me, not giving us a glance as he headed farther east, advancing along what we had come to think of as the main path. Of course, we did as he ordered, but since he had not given the command to march, we shambled along, while I tried to keep one eye up the slope to my right, as I had been doing all day, while not tripping on the rocky ground. By this point, I would not describe this watercourse that had intersected with the flow we were originally following as a river, and little more than a stream, but it was now running rapidly enough that the noise of the water tumbling down around rocks, a few logs, and the like, partially covered the noise of our movement.
"Where are we going?" Avitus muttered, but I had no more idea than he did.
Just once, I glanced over my shoulder, leaning outward so I could see back past the rest of the Century as far as I could, and I was not happy to see the largest portion of our detachment was no longer visible. We had gone beyond yet another bend, yet just when I was about to risk our Optio's wrath, he suddenly stopped, holding up his fist in the signal to halt. We did so, although if it had been on the forum, we would have gotten a tongue-lashing at the very least. Standing with his hands on his hips, Tiburtinus surveyed the ground, his head moving back and forth as he considered matters; at least I assumed he was thinking. Then, he turned about and gave us our orders.
"Right, we're settling in here for the night. We're going to be here ready in case Draxo or any of those barbarian cunni come from this direction."
We waited for further orders, but none came; Tiburtinus had turned away by this point to talk to Flaccus, the only standard-bearer who had come with us, leaving Capulo behind with the main body, while Avitus and I glanced at each other. His expression was probably a reflection of mine, but when I gestured to Tiburtinus in a silent demand to Avitus that he bring up what I knew he was thinking, he adamantly shook his head. Seeing by his body language he would not be swayed, I sighed and turned to where Tiburtinus and Flaccus were still talking quietly, clearing my throat. Which, as I suspected would happen, the pair ignored.
"Optio?"
Although I expected Tiburtinus would not respond immediately, choosing to disregard me as a silent message, I was surprised when he turned around; I was not surprised to see he was irritated.
"What is it, Pullus?"
Hesitating, I realized that, as usual, I had spoken before forming my thoughts. Feeling his hard stare on me, I did not want to meet his gaze; instead, I pointed down to a small jumble of rocks that had clearly broken loose upslope somewhere and tumbled down.
"Couldn't we use all these rocks to make a wall to block the ravine? I mean," I hurried on, "if they do come this way."
"We could," Tiburtinus agreed, surprising me considerably, at least at first, "but we're not going to."
"But it would slow them down and give us some cover," Avitus spoke up from behind me, another surprise.
"And tomorrow, when we resume the march, we'd have to knock it down," Tiburtinus replied.
Fortunately, I was not the one who continued pressing the issue.
"So?" Avitus argued. "How long would that take? We could tear it down in the morning while we're waiting for the rest of them to meet up with us, since they'll have to head in this direction."
I sensed that the others were no less shocked than I was that Avitus was not willing to recognize the conversation had clearly ended, and our orders were clear. Tiburtinus did not reply, verbally at least, but he crossed the few feet separating us so quickly that none of us, particularly Avitus, had time to react. From where I stood, what I saw was him flashing across my front, then before I could even turn my head, I heard the smacking sound of Tiburtinus' fist smashing Avitus in the face; I was in time to see Avitus collapse on the ground in a ball, one hand holding his cheekbone.
"Do you have anything else to say?" Tiburtinus' tone was deceptively mild.
I suppose when one knocks a man off his feet, there is not much need for yelling.
"N-n-no, Optio," Avitus wheezed, his mouth opening as he tried to see if his jaw was broken.
"Good," Tiburtinus said pleasantly, but then he turned to face me and asked quietly, "And you, Pullus? Anything you want to add?"
I assured him that all of my questions had been answered to my satisfaction.
"Good." He turned to walk back to Flaccus, presumably to resume his conversation.
I offered Avitus my hand, which he took while gingerly rubbing the left side of his face, which was already swelling.
"I guess we're not having a wall," was all I could think to say.
With nothing much else to do, we sat down and Domitius came and joined me as we sat eating. We were not alone; as veterans, every man in the First knew how often an excursion that was supposed to last less than a full day often turned out to be much longer, so everyone was consuming at least part of the rations they had brought with them. My problem, especially back then, was that I was always hungry, so that despite my sternest admonition to myself, I had just stuffed the last bit of bread I had with me into my mouth when Tiburtinus walked up. Both Domitius and I started to come to our feet; instead, he squatted next to us.
"We're going to be putting pairs of men up the slope as sentries." He did not waste any time with formalities. "And I've decided that you two are going to be one pair."
I started to open my mouth to protest, then stopped myself; this is the kind of thing we call the dirty end of the sponge that every man must grasp, and Tiburtinus' demonstration with Avitus was in the very recent past. Besides, it was something of an honor that he trusted the both of us, although I understood he would never express it in those terms. The one troubling thought was my arm; this would be a bad time and place to find out that, contrary to Urso's and my opinion, my left arm was not strong enough to protect Domitius. I must admit that looking down at these freshly written words it makes me chuckle, because despite my compromised arm, it never occurred to me that I would be to the left of Domitius, where he could protect me.
"Where?" Domitius asked, and I knew him well enough to understand he had come to the same conclusion, that this was neither the time nor place to argue.
Twisting slightly, Tiburtinus pointed, and my heart leaped as I saw he was pointing even farther east than we already were.
"See that little fold?" He was pointing to a spot where, for whatever reason, the slope of the hill bulged out a few feet. "I think if you put yourselves up there, about halfway up the slope, it'll put you in the best spot to see as far as possible up the draw."
While I could see he was correct, what I also saw was that if the barbarians decided to approach from the south, meaning up the slope from behind us, they could use that slight crease as cover to get even closer to Domitius and me than if we were sitting a little farther along. But, I also was forced to admit, Tiburtinus had a good eye; in all likelihood, the spot he pointed out was going to give us the best view along the most likely approach.
"How many pairs?" I asked, and a look of irritation flashed across the Optio's face, although I suppose he realized it was a fair question; if we heard or saw movement, we would not want to raise an alarm that created chaos because we did not know if another pair of our comrades were in that spot.
"Eight," he replied tersely, then turned and indicated where he intended to have them placed, pointing to spots on both slopes. Not lost on me was the fact that Domitius and I were going to be the farthest outpost east, which Tiburtinus had deemed to be the most likely direction from which the barbarians might attack. When he was done, he asked sarcastically, "Does that meet with your approval?"
I flushed, but before I could say anything, Domitius spoke up.
"We should know where everyone is, Optio. Pullus was just asking so we don't fuck things up."
Tiburtinus opened his mouth, then shut it, and nodded.
"You're right," he said finally, standing up. "But now you need to get into your spot before it gets dark. One man sleeps, the other man watches." Then he added something that made no sense to either of us, at least at the moment. "Just make sure that whoever you see coming from that direction are the enemy."
Domitius and I exchanged a glance, sharing our confusion, but Tiburtinus had already turned away, presumably to go tell the other lucky men; frankly, I was not willing to push matters with the Optio to try and make sense of it. However, I thought of something else.
"What's the watchword?" I asked. "In case we have to hurry our asses back here?"
I felt a small sense of vindication as it was his time to turn red as he turned around and grimaced, "Oh, right. The challenge is Divus Julius." He gave a grim smile and gave the countersign. "Pompey Magnus."
As he resumed walking away, I watched him go for a moment, and Domitius said, "Well, at least our Primus Pilus has a sense of humor."
By the time we had labored up the slope to our spot, about two hundred paces from the rest of the Century to the east where the fold of land was located, we had just moments before the sun was completely gone. Thankfully, that did not make it completely dark; it was a full moon that night and the sky was cloudless, making visibility as good as it could be at night, although the quality of moonlight makes judging things like distance deceiving, as well as washing out all colors so the eye can only see black, white, or at best, silvery-gray. Nevertheless, I grudgingly had to admit that as far as giving us the best view up the main ravine, Tiburtinus' eye had not lied. Squatting down, Domitius and I quickly arranged ourselves so that I was sitting looking down the ravine, and his back was against mine and he could view up the slope. At least, I thought, until he goes to sleep, because we had drawn straws to see who took first watch, and I had won.
"I doubt I'll get any sleep anyway," he had confessed, and I agreed that it was unlikely I would either.
I did feel a bit smug when, not long after we had settled in, I spied movement on the opposite side of the ravine, but a fair distance back in the direction of where the rest of the Century was settled in. Although it was near the spot Tiburtinus had pointed to as one of the other outposts, I still stared intently. I was fairly certain from the location that it was another pair of men, but I continued watching the spot where I had first seen movement. Finally, I caught a glint of silvery light that reflected back at me, and when I leaned forward to keep my eye on it, the movement alerted Domitius.
"What is it?" he whispered. "What do you see?"
"I see," I whispered back after expelling most of my breath, which meant I had to turn and place my mouth as close to his ear as possible, "that we need to either take our helmets off, or use some of the leaves and things like that to cover them up. With this full moon, they catch the light and shine like a torch."
He did not reply, but I sensed that he was impressed, reinforced when he leaned over and grabbed some tufts of the tough, slender grass that managed to eke out a life in the shadow of the larger bushes and trees. Keeping my eyes on the movement, just to confirm my belief that it was being made by friends and not some barbarians, I sensed Domitius moving about.
There was a rustling sound that lasted for a bit, then his hand suddenly came into my vision as he whispered, "Give me your helmet."
I complied, then a few moments later, he handed it back and, despite the circumstances, I had to stifle a laugh. Using both the knob where our plumes normally went and the slight space between the brow ridge and helmet, he had managed to weave not only tufts of grass, but small branches, so the leaves jutted above the helmet itself.
"I look like I'm in the Larks," I whispered, because that was what I was reminded of, the Fifth Alaudae Legion, who I had seen once when they marched through Arelate, their two single lark feathers sticking straight up above their helmets, much in the same way as these leaves.
"You're welcome." Even when he whispered, I heard the indignation in his voice, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing as he finished. "You'll thank me when we get back in one piece because of those leaves."
I did not reply, but I remember thinking that I would indeed do that very thing if all went well. Settling in, I used my shield to rest my chin on as I laid it against my lower legs, my knees drawn up to provide support. After some more wiggling about, Domitius found the most comfortable position, and we prepared to pass a long night.
I do not know how long it was before all the sounds made by the rest of the Century off to my left as they prepared for the night finally ceased, leaving only the low moaning of the wind, which was noticeably stronger higher up the slope, along with the barely audible sound of water running over the rocky bottom about two hundred feet lower than where we were sitting, and twice that far away. It was something I had noticed before, but that night, I was reminded how far sounds travel after the sun goes down, although I do not know why that is. Despite my belief I would have no problem staying awake, isolated from the relative safety of the rest of my Century, who were in turn separated by a fair distance from the rest of the Cohort, not to mention the Second and Seventh. However, what I discovered was that a constant noise, like a breeze or a babbling brook, has a soporific quality that found me fighting to stay awake. No matter how hard I tried to remind myself of the horrors that awaited, not just for me and Domitius, but all of my comrades if we failed in our duty to provide an early alarm, my eyelids seemed determined to shut. And, as I also learned, the longer the period of time that passes where nothing unusual happens, the harder that struggle is. Finally, I was reduced to biting the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood, but I kept moving my head, my gaze moving eastward up the ravine, then across to the far side. Taking everything into consideration with what we knew about where the main body of barbarians were probably located, I judged that it was most likely it would be from the far side, the north side of the ravine, from which any possible attack would come. My reasoning, as it went, was sound; we had approached from the south, penetrating the southern edge of this area, while there was cause to believe that Draxo and whoever was with him were somewhere to the north. While it was possible they could use the large ravine that we were watching to approach from the east, my feeling was that if they were to use a natural path of that nature, it would be the watercourse that intersected this ravine from the north. However, it was to my left, a fair distance away, and there were almost three full Cohorts bedded down right there, which meant it was not my problem, so I did my best to pay attention and watch east, from where I was sure nobody would come. The belief that the enemy would not use this approach, as we were about to discover, was the only thing I got right that night.
I was alerted, not by anything moving in front of me, or by Domitius saying anything, but even with our sagum wrapped around our armor, both to lessen the reflection and to muffle any noise when we moved and our armor rubbed together, I still felt his body suddenly stiffen. Less than an eyeblink later, I also heard his breathing suddenly increase in speed, as he was almost panting as his lungs tried to keep up with his heart.
I almost blurted something, but managed to stop myself, once more expelling my breath and twisting as much as I could, whispering, "What is it?"
The pressure against my back increased as he leaned backward and whispered, "I don't know," he said softly, "but I…smell something."
My first impulse was to snicker at the idea he could smell the enemy coming, but before I could, it hit me as well; a sharp, sour odor any Roman who has dealt with barbarians recognizes. It is a combination of unwashed bodies, the smell of wood smoke, and clothes that are washed even more infrequently than their bodies. My guess is my heart started beating as rapidly as Domitius', although I kept my head enough to be very careful as I pivoted around on my rear. Suddenly, his hand moved, and he pointed up the slope, although he did not say anything. Because of my position, looking over his right shoulder, I was able to follow his finger to a spot that, in the few moments we had to examine the immediate area before it had gotten completely dark, I thought was just below the crest of the hill on which we were perched. However, I did not see anything, at least at first. Then there was a flash of silvery light that was not the same as what I had observed earlier from our comrades on the other side; perhaps it was the moonlight reflected off a sword blade, because it was longer and narrow. That caught my eye and, an instant later, I saw movement as well, except it was not moving down the slope towards us, but across it from our left to right. By facing in that direction, the rest of our Century was to our right rear, while the main body was almost directly to our right because of the way the ravine curved, and, in that instant, I realized my belief that the barbarians had no intention of using the most obvious and easiest approach was confirmed. Following immediately on the heels was the recognition that being right did not matter at this moment. My throat closed up as what had been just one man slowly materialized into two, then three, then four. Before I could count to thirty, it was clear that a significant number of barbarian warriors were moving parallel to the ravine, higher up the slope than where we were located. In that moment, I could not ask Domitius, yet I sensed he understood as well as I did that any movement on our part would betray our position, so instead, we just sat there, barely daring to breathe as we watched what I presumed were Draxo's warriors creep by on their way to get in position to attack. I was sure that, even if we remained motionless, they would hear us; either by our breathing or because our hearts were beating so loudly, yet they did not even seem to glance in our direction. However, I realized if they did, from their spot looking downslope, we were covered by shadows. There was no way to tell with any certainty, but judging by the length of time it took before the last warrior crept by off to our right, my guess was that there were at least a thousand warriors. The questions, at least at that point, were whether this was the main body, and whether their target was just our Century.
Once the brush and vegetation stopped moving, Domitius whirled about to face me, his own just an outline in the gloom.
"What do we do?"
In answer, I stood up, hefted my shield, and although I initially picked up one of my javelins, I instantly thought better of it, knowing that in the dark and as heavily forested as the slope was, it would probably end up buried in a tree rather than an enemy. The one problem confronting us was the distance to our comrades, but I have a set of lungs that are blessed to be as large as my chest.
Just before I filled them, I whispered to Domitius, who had scrambled to his feet as well, "We're about to have company." Then, I bellowed as loudly as I had in my life to that point, "Attack! To arms! To arms! Coming from the south!"
I am not sure how many times I repeated this, but I was already moving by the second "to arms," heading down the slope except at a shallower angle designed to bring us closer to our comrades. Of course, in the back of my mind was the understanding that I was placing both Domitius and me in the path of a large number of many barbarian warriors, undoubtedly angry the alarm had been raised. Additionally, it would not take much for them to determine we were the cause of that warning. As I let my legs move of their own volition, aided by the pull of whatever it is that makes running downhill so much faster, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Domitius, shield held high and out of the way, just like me.
Only the gods know how neither Domitius nor I stumbled over the uneven ground, in the dark, while trying to reach the scant safety of the rest of our Century, but we did not. That, however, was the extent of our good fortune. Without discussing it until much later, both of us had the same idea; race down the slope, shouting the watchword, to make it within our lines before the barbarians attacked. But fairly quickly, being in the lead, I could see we would not be successful, as what looked like a rolling avalanche of black, with a waving sword, axe, or spear catching a glint of moonlight to flash silver, moved from upslope to our left and downslope to the right, more quickly than we could. Their momentum was greater from going straight down the slope compared to ours as we cut across, and accompanying this onslaught was the sound of hundreds of voices. From our front and left came the howling hatred of what I assumed were the rebelling Colapiani, while to our right, I could hear the sound of the cornu, and Tiburtinus calling our comrades to arms. Despite continuing to run in that direction, both Domitius and I listened in horror as a dark flood of barbarian warriors slammed into our Century, aided by the momentum gained from charging down the slope. I did not have to see it; the terrible crashing sound as the Colapiani collided into however many men managed to stand up, orient themselves to the direction of the attack, and get their shields into position rolled up to us. Naturally, there were shouts, then we got close enough to recognize those men calling out in our tongue and those who were barbarians, punctuated by a shrill cry that, no matter how many times I hear it, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, because it is the unmistakable sound of someone suffering a serious, probably mortal wound. My only hope was that it came from a Colapiani throat, but there was no way to tell. Seeing we were too late, I tried to gradually slow myself so that Domitius and I could confer to determine our best hope for reuniting with our comrades, except it took me longer than I wanted because of our momentum so that we were some fifty paces higher up the slope and about a hundred paces from the eastern edge of the Century lines. At first, I thought we could make it by running straight down the slope and rejoining our Century from what was now their eastern flank because the men in the last file were still unengaged, yet even as the thought formed what looked like more than two dozen warriors who had been in the rear as their swifter or more courageous tribesmen slammed into our Century saw the same thing I did, and they were closer. I opened my mouth to shout, but because of the moonlight, I saw this threat had been spotted, the men who an instant before were grabbing the harness of the man in front of them now turning to their left to get their shields up, just in time. Like a dark incoming tide, the Colapiani flowed into the ravine, filling it so quickly that every one of our comrades on what an instant before had been the flank was now engaged. For an instant, there was only one thin line of barbarians, but before we could run down there and cut our way through to our comrades, the barbarian ranks deepened as men continued streaming down the slope to join this effort to flank the Century.
"What do we do?" panted Domitius, and I glanced over to see him drop his shield, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
"I don't know," I answered honestly.
At that moment, we were just two men and, because we were relatively motionless, we had not come to the attention of the Colapiani who were still unengaged at the back of their own mob. That, I knew, would not last.
Making a decision, I turned and pointed behind us, saying, "We go back up the slope, cut across behind this bunch, and go to where everyone else is and get help." I shook my head and finished, pointing down at the fighting, "Unless you have a better idea, because we're not getting anywhere near there. Not alive."
His face was completely shadowed, but I saw his head nod.
"You're right," he agreed. "So let's go get help." Thinking of something, he added, "We may run into one of the other boys on outpost, or maybe more than one."
That, I realized, was true, and the larger our numbers the better. Seeing no point in wasting our time or breath, we turned and climbed straight up the slope.
We did find the two men who had been put out as sentries by Tiburtinus closest to us on our side of the ravine, but they were in no shape to help. They were from the Fifth Section of the First, and both had their throats cut; even in the dark, we could see there had been no struggle.
"They must have fallen asleep," Domitius whispered and, no doubt, he was right.
Downslope to our right and now slightly behind us, the fighting was at a fever pitch, and I heard the blast of a bone whistle sounding the relief. Not knowing exactly what was happening, I took a small comfort that at least Tiburtinus was alive and in command. We continued moving parallel to the ravine, darting from one clump of trees to another or whatever underbrush provided the most cover, but twice I stumbled over a root or a rock; even with the moonlight, because of the foliage above us, very little of the light reached the ground. There would be small pools of silver light, which I took care to avoid, but the second time I tripped, I heard a hiss from behind me.
"Let me lead. You're too big to be stumbling around in the dark," Domitius whispered, and I was not inclined to argue.
There was a point where I became confused because, although the First and its fight was now behind us, some trick of the night wind made it sound as if it was coming from ahead of us instead. Trying to remember how far we had marched away from the main body, I tugged on Domitius' harness to stop him.
"Do you hear that?" I asked, and he cocked his head, then untied his thong to lift the earflap.
"It sounds like…" Still holding onto his harness, I felt him stiffen. "Pluto's cock! Titus, they're attacking the main body too!"
Despite it confirming my suspicions, a wave of despair hit me, and it was hard to think.
"We should at least get closer," I whispered, "and see what the situation is."
Again, he did not argue, and we resumed moving west. Reaching the spot where the ravine bent, I realized that had helped mask the sound, because now there was no mistaking the noises of another fight, a much larger one.
"Fuck me," Domitius breathed, and we were both so shaken that neither of us thought about keeping to the shadows, a beam of pure silver light bathing the both of us.
With his helmet on, and because the shadows at night are so much deeper, I could only see dark pools where his eyes were, but the downturned mouth summed up my feeling as well. Not knowing what else to do, I moved past him, retaking the lead, intent on getting at least a better idea about what was happening. Suddenly, a cornu blast sounded, and the cornicen had not even finished before we both recognized the signal.
"An orbis!"
I do not remember which of us said it, but what I do remember is that, once more, that black feeling of panic started to edge its way into my soul. It was only with a huge effort that I stuffed it down, yet even as the horn repeated the call, I resumed moving, toward the growing sounds of fighting.
"That bunch we saw must have only been part of them! That's the only way they would have enough men to force an orbis!" I heard Domitius whisper, and although I stifled my reply I was irritated that he was bringing up something that did not help us.
Because of the clamor down at the bottom of the hill, we did not have to worry about moving silently and, a moment later, we had drawn close enough so that when we looked carefully in that direction, we could see movement. However, we were still not close enough to pick out any individuals, so as if acting on their own, my feet began turning straight down the slope in order to close the remaining distance more quickly.
"Titus!" I heard Domitius hiss. "What are you doing? We shouldn't get any closer!"
I knew he was right, yet I still found myself moving in that direction, although I have no idea why I was doing so, because it would be certain death. Oh, if Domitius followed me, we could cut down a handful of barbarians from behind before they knew what was happening. But then some of them would turn around and, in a matter of heartbeats, we would be chopped into bloody bits. Nevertheless, I felt drawn down the hill by more than the normal force, reaching to draw my sword since I had dropped both javelins before we began running, when I was saved from the most unlikely source imaginable. Unexpectedly, directly behind us I heard a shout, except clearly in a barbarian tongue, and we both spun about. Domitius was about twenty feet back up the slope; he had clearly stopped following me to my death, but looking above him there was an unmistakable movement, accompanied by the crashing sound akin to that made by a large herd of animals, or a sizable group of men.
"Titus! Run!"
I barely caught a glimpse of what I thought were four or five men running abreast, the moonlight glinting on their raised swords and their helmets; an even more fleeting impression was that these men were not alone, but Domitius' warning had been like a slap in the face, so there was less than a heartbeat of hesitation as I followed him. Before I had any thought to do so, I was catching up to Domitius as we once more ran along the slope, heading back east in the direction from which we came. There is no good way to recount those frenzied moments as the pair of us began to run for our lives, quickly reaching full speed despite the darkness. Domitius discarded his shield, yet when I tried, my fingers would not uncurl enough, so the best I could do was hold my left arm away from my body as I tried to keep up with him.
The wind roaring in our ears did not drown out the savages giving chase cursing at us, or perhaps asking their gods to give them strength and speed to overtake us. Twice as we went dashing through the trees, weaving back and forth, one of the Colapiani threw a javelin at me, presumably while on the run as well. I caught a flicker of motion that streaked by me; the first buried itself in a tree trunk with a solid thudding sound loud enough for me to hear over everything else. Perhaps a dozen normal heartbeats later, another one shot by, except instead of landing solidly, it glanced off a tree to my left, bouncing off the trunk just as I ran by, the force of the throw sufficiently strong enough that it hit my shield, albeit at a shallow angle. That, however, turned out to be a blessing because the impact on my shield was powerful enough that the shield was wrenched from my grasp. I cannot lie; it sent a bolt of pain shooting up my arm, but if anything, it gave me an extra burst of energy, or so I thought in the moment. More likely, the fact I was no longer encumbered was the real cause, and whereas before, Domitius was about a dozen paces ahead, very quickly, my longer legs closed the distance. The shouting gave us the needed incentive to keep running was still going on, albeit more gasping than yelling, but we naturally did not stop. My lungs felt like someone had taken a bucket of heated charcoal and dumped it down my throat, while my legs felt similarly aflame, yet it was a very simple proposition for the both of us; run, or die. However, while neither of us wanted to fall into the hands of the Colapiani, I had even more of a reason; if I was not killed outright but taken prisoner instead, undoubtedly, I would be dragged before Draxo. And I thought it highly unlikely he would forget the giant Roman who used his shield to break one of his tribeswomen's arms, simply because she was upset that her son was being taken away to join the auxiliaries. An added incentive was the memory of those four barbarians of what I was now sure was Draxo's royal guard approaching me after I killed the man that turned out to be his son, understanding that in the event even one of those men were with Draxo when I was dragged before him, I would certainly die, just not very quickly.
I cannot say which came first: the recognition this was essentially the same ground we had covered immediately after we saw the attacking Colapiani move into position to fall on the First, or that, even with the shrilling sound caused by our earflaps as we ran, we heard another whistling, except this was a long note sounded by a real one made of bone coming this time directly from our left. Although I had closed on Domitius, he was still just ahead of me and a bit uphill to my right, so I had no way of knowing if he heard the sound. If he did, he gave no indication, except I noticed he actually had turned uphill, just a bit, but enough to slow him down.
"Straighten out!" I managed to gasp. "You're going uphill!"
He did not reply, verbally anyway, but I just made out him lifting his left arm in what under other circumstances looked like a wave; otherwise, he maintained his course. While it was true I had not heard any shouting for the last few moments, I also understood it was just as likely that the sound of my own panting was drowning them out or they were similarly breathless. Reaching a tiny clearing bathed in moonlight, no more than a dozen paces across, just before we left it, I risked a quick glance, half-expecting to either see our pursuers right behind us, or run right into a tree because I was not looking where I was going, or both. The gods had other plans for me, though, because nothing of the sort happened, and I did see we had drawn out a larger gap than the one with which we started. Although I did not run into a tree, I came close; just as my head turned back to the front, the black trunk of a tree seemed to be hurtling toward me, and although I managed to steer my whole body out of the way, I brushed the tree with my arm. Unfortunately for me, it was my left arm, so the rough bark scraping against the still-tender skin of my wound sent such a thunderclap of pain up my arm that I almost stumbled and fell because of that alone. Consequently, my stride was altered and, for a moment, I was bent over, trying to swing my arms wildly about to regain my balance. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I felt a strong hand reach out, briefly scrabbling along the back of my segmentata before getting a purchase on my harness. It happened so quickly I did not have time to react, although I had the fleeting thought that I had been caught, except it was Domitius who, now alongside me, helped stabilize me even as we continued running.
"Where are we going?" I just managed to get out.
"Follow…me…"
The sounds of the fighting were just barely audible again, although the noise was rapidly receding to our left rear and competing with the combined sounds made by our lungs trying to gulp down air. There was only one very tiny part of my mind still functioning rationally, working to maintain control in order to try and keep us alive. It is not that I was panicking; once I was aware of it threatening to resurface, things had happened so quickly I did not have time to think about anything other than running as fast as I could. Now, that rational part alerted me we were nearing the place where we had been just…what had it been? I wondered. No more than a sixth part of a watch, probably less than that, when we had been sitting back to back, trying to stay awake. But as our location registered in my mind, I began to get an idea of where Domitius was leading us and, fairly quickly, my suspicion was confirmed. Running, or more accurately stumbling across that fold of ground, we reached the other side and, barely pausing, we kept going. Suddenly, the ground tilted out from under my feet, except rather than pitching forward headfirst, I violently threw my weight backward. Consequently, my upper body going in the opposite direction of my feet caused them to fly out from under me so that I landed, hard, on my ass, the impact strong enough to make my teeth rattle together, biting my tongue in the process. As painful as that was, it was only the beginning as I continued sliding down into the steep draw that dropped away from the far edge of the fold, the sharp edges of rocks cutting into the back of my legs as I skidded down in a shower of smaller gravel and dirt. I was vaguely aware that Domitius had been about five feet upslope of me and a step or two ahead, but I suppose my heavier bulk made me slide faster, because when my feet slammed into the ground, the dirt and gravel still cascading down, Domitius was not there. An instant later, he landed with a grunt, the impact making him stumble, although he did not seem to bring half the hill down with him. My arm was still throbbing from the tree, but now added to that were the backs of my legs, and I felt trickles of warm liquid running down towards my calves. For just an instant, we stood there, panting, but even at the bottom of this narrow draw, we could still barely hear the fighting still going on. Then there was a shout, and although it was difficult to tell because of the way sounds bounce around hills, it sounded like it came from close enough to where our pursuers would likely be that it prompted us into action. Spinning to his right, Domitius pointed up the hill.
"Come on; we need to go this way," he whispered over his shoulder, except I did not move immediately.
Sensing I was not following, he stopped and turned around. The moonlight where we were standing was very bright, but just up the slope, I saw the shadows resumed from the trees lining the edges of the watercourse, which meant relative safety.
"What is it?" he asked, and I saw him cast a nervous glance up the slope we had just descended.
"Why that way?" I shook my head. "We need to get back to the Century."
"How?" he countered immediately. "It'll be the same problem. If we go down to the bottom of the draw, we'll still have those bastards between us and the Century. And we don't know they haven't already overrun it!"
"Yes we do," I whispered, feeling a stab of anger, although now I know it was just fear at the thought that our Century might be wiped out. I pointed back in that direction. "You can hear them fighting!"
"For how much longer?"
That got through to me, prompting a grim nod as I motioned for him to resume.
"I just hope it's not too late," I heard him mutter. "We've got to get into the shadows."
Fortunately, he was already moving, ascending what I did not need any moonlight to know was a dry watercourse, the kind that only fills up in the spring thaw. The bottom was rocky, and so narrow I could reach out and touch both sides with my palms flat, but it was the sound of hobnails striking stone that made me wince every time it happened. We had climbed perhaps a hundred feet when we heard men shouting again, but they were not close enough to tell if they speaking in the barbarian tongue; we just assumed that was the case. We reached the cover of the deep shadows, and the combination of overhanging trees and the shoulder of one side of the draw blocked the moonlight. Because of our height advantage, we could look back down from where we had come, in a deeply shadowed spot that was relatively secure, using the moment to catch our breath and look back down the slope. Even if the trees had not been in the way, the way the hill curved blocked any possible view of the floor of the ravine where our comrades were fighting, although we could just barely hear the sounds. Then, to our left as we continued looking that direction, there was a crashing sound, followed by a flurry of movement as first one, two, three, then four men emerged from the thicker woods, reaching the spot where we had just slid down the slope. While they were moving quickly, they were not running, and they stopped as they stared around, while one of them leaned out to look down the slope to the bottom of the watercourse we were using. Even as that happened, another half-dozen men appeared, emerging from the same spot as the first group. That was not what arrested my attention, though, but when I glanced over at Domitius, I saw him staring in the same direction, although it was too dark to see his expression.
That compelled me to whisper, "Is there anything about that bunch that looks…strange?"
"You mean other than the fact that they're looking for us to flay us and wear our skin as cloaks?" Despite the gravity, I admit I had to stifle a chuckle. I sensed him turn to look at me, and he replied, "Other than that, not really. Why?"
I pointed down at what I counted as a dozen men, all armed but with an assortment of weapons, who were now conducting some sort of whispered conference of their own.
"Doesn't that armor and those helmets look familiar?"
Domitius turned back to look at them again, and I was rewarded when he sucked in a breath.
"They're Roman!"
I nodded, feeling grimly satisfied that I was the first to notice, my competitive nature still asserting itself, even in that moment.
"The armor is the old hamata, it's true," I whispered, "but less than half the men still wear them. But the helmets?" I shook my head. "They look like the ones from when my father marched."
Almost as if I had bidden him, one man turned to face our direction, looking up the draw, although we knew there was no way to see us. What it did was allow us to see that his helmet was identical to ours in shape, with the exception of the reinforced brow strip, and while there was a back flange to protect the neck like what we were wearing right then, it was smaller.
"They're all wearing them," Domitius whispered. "If it was just one of them, it would be one thing. But how did they get so many of them?"
"I don't know." I kept my eyes down on the men, who seemed to come to some sort of decision. "But I have an idea. But we can't worry about it now. We need to get going."
Even as I said this, one of the men began to lower himself down the slope in roughly the same spot we had thrown ourselves, and that was all the sign we needed that they had no intention of giving up the pursuit. Turning, we resumed ascending the draw, but although we did not stop, I began cursing myself; I had been so worried about what kind of armor the barbarians were wearing I had forgotten to ask Domitius if he had a plan after we reached the top of the hill.
The watercourse we were following became smaller, until about a hundred feet from the top, it was taking us so much time and effort to carefully pick up our feet and place them in the ever-narrowing channel for the water that we decided to stop trying. This turned out to be a move blessed by the gods, because if we had continued to struggle there, we would have not been in a position to see our rescue. Immediately after we clambered the few feet up the eastern bank, we stopped for a moment in a small clearing where we could see far below us, like a white ribbon with a dark stripe along one edge lay the floor of the ravine and the stream. We were perhaps five hundred feet higher and, under other circumstances, I suppose it would have been a nice view, but even in the moonlight, the visibility was excellent. We were both looking back down along the watercourse, which put us facing north and slightly west at that moment, so it did not take long to spot movement, betrayed by the glint of moonlight on helmets moving up the hill, causing both of us to curse.
"It doesn't look like they're planning on giving up."
"No," I agreed, "so we should keep going."
I turned and looked back up the slope, except when I started to climb, I was so tired that I had to use my arms, pushing down on my knees to give me leverage. Domitius did not move, even as I struggled another step, and I thought he was grabbing a couple more breaths, but then he called my name. Turning around, I was not expecting him to look in essentially the opposite direction from our pursuit, yet he was.
"Look!"
Sighing, I negotiated back down the slope, prepared to smack him for making me expend more energy; nevertheless, I followed his finger with my gaze, eastward back along the floor of the ravine. At first, I did not see anything, but then I caught something, as a flicker of light bounced off a piece of sheer rock face on the far side of the ravine.
"Cac," I muttered. "Probably fucking reinforcements."
"Carrying torches?" he asked quietly, then shook his head. "Like you said a couple days ago, they know this land, so why would they need torches?"
Despite not wanting to, I felt a flicker of excitement, but when I glanced back where we had last seen our pursuers, my heart sank.
"They're going to spot us quick as fucking Pan," I hissed. "Come on." But when I turned to resume climbing, Domitius did not move again.
This time, however, he simply said, "We need to head east."
"You don't know if they're friendly," I insisted.
"Yes, I do," he said simply, but then he added, "If you want to keep going, I understand. Maybe it would be better if you keep heading south and get to the camp."
The thought of us separating was too much for me to bear, although I did not say that; instead, I just grumbled and indicated he should lead the way. Our pace naturally was quicker as Domitius moved into the trees at a downward angle, while I followed behind, hoping that he was right.
Not only was Domitius right, by changing the direction of our flight across the slope, his decision bought us valuable time over the pursuing barbarians. Because they were still following our old trail, they were down in the watercourse, at least until they ascended another two hundred feet where it got shallow enough that their heads were above the plane of the slope. Even then, they would be forced to try and find some sort of sign that would put them back on our trail; my fervent hope was they would assume our goal was still to crest the ridge and continue south, and consequently only be looking for any sign of us leading uphill. Also helping us was going in our direction was easy, both in the sense of course and speed, since we knew going downhill would bring us to the bottom of the ravine. However, while our situation had improved somewhat by putting more distance between our pursuers, I was not as sanguine as Domitius seemed to be about the torch-bearing party moving west towards us being friendly. Regardless, I was right behind him, and a part of me did recognize that his point about barbarians needing torches to light their way was a good one. Despite that, neither did I want to lose sight of this party's progress so that we came bursting out of the trees right into the midst of a mass of armed men who might be friendly, but who would not react well to being surprised, no matter who we were. Unfortunately, between dropping lower and the trees, it was almost impossible for us to catch more than the faintest glimpse of light, and we were never in a place where we had a good view. Finally, when we were perhaps a hundred feet higher than the ravine, I grabbed Domitius by the harness, pulling him to a stop.
"We don't want to just go running into the middle of them," I gasped. "Even if they are ours, what would you do if someone came crashing through the brush?"
He did not answer, verbally anyway, but I saw his head nod, so I thought for a moment.
"I think our best hope is to backtrack a bit to try and get ahead of whoever it is, get as close to the bottom as we can without being seen, and then wait to find out if they're ours."
"You mean, go back in the direction of those bastards chasing us?" he asked dubiously.
"They're higher up," I argued. "And, for all we know, they're already on the other side of the ridge, trying to stop us from getting to the big camp!"
"Or," he countered, "they've seen the torches too and know we're going to head for them."
"Which is another reason we should head back west. Not far," I added, "but just so we can be sure we're in a spot to see them coming. If they have seen the torches, I think you're right; they'll change direction like we did. But they're going to take the straightest line to intercept us."
I could see that made sense to him, and he only hesitated for a moment before nodding his head.
"All right," he agreed. "Let's go."
We continued weaving our way through the trees, the difference being that although we were doubling back, it was still heading slightly downhill. I believed the trick was to move at the right angle that would bring us to a point about twenty feet up the slope from the bottom of the ravine, yet at a point where we had enough time to at least squat down for cover before looking back east for the approaching party, which we could now hear as their feet brought them closer. Once or twice, I thought I heard a voice, but so faintly, it could have come from any direction. Finally, I decided we were in as good a spot as we could find, behind a deadfall that lay parallel to the ravine floor, only about thirty feet higher up the slope. It was far from perfect, but it was the only spot I had seen that gave us the ability to look back east, where we could clearly see the reflection of the torches flickering against the background of the opposite slope. Almost before we were ready, though, the front of the column appeared from around a slight bend. It did not take more than an eyeblink for a feeling of relief to flood through me so intense it made me dizzy and, without thinking, I reached out to clutch Domitius by the arm, but he was no less affected. No barbarians, anywhere, marched in a series of neat ranks, even in the middle of the night over rough ground.
"Thank you," I heard Domitius whisper as he looked skyward. "Blessed Fortuna! I'm making a sacrifice to you as soon as we get back to Siscia!"
Helping each other to stand up – I was absurdly pleased to see he seemed as shaky as I felt – we stepped over the deadfall, then half-sliding, half walking, we dropped down to the floor of the ravine, splashing through the shallow water to get to solid ground. I cannot say whether it was the movement or the sound, but we heard a shout, and the column stopped.
"We're Roman!" I shouted, completely forgetting the proper procedure. "Don't release! Don't release your javelins!"
"There's only one idiot I know that size who'd forget the watchword."
Torches were held aloft by a man on either side of the formation, both the front rank and rear rank, and while I did not have time to make an accurate count, I saw these flickering beacons extending back, out of sight around another bend. The reason I did not have time was that my eyes were drawn to the figure who had detached himself from the formation, although I had instantly recognized the voice.
"Pilus Prior Corvinus," I called out, not caring that my voice was shaking from equal parts relief and exhaustion. "What are you doing here?"
"Carrying out the Primus Pilus' plan," he replied, yet even as he did so, he had turned and waved my former comrades of the Fourth forward. "We got delayed, though. Now," he resumed marching, motioning to us to walk with him, "what's happening?"
As expected, we heard the fighting not long after the Fourth found us, while Domitius and I tried to fill in Corvinus on everything we knew which, as we admitted, was not much. Identifying the bend in the ravine ahead where we had been perched, Corvinus called a quick halt.
"We're going to have to go in as a column," he said grimly.
Domitius and I exchanged a glance, and I understood we were thinking along the same lines.
"Pilus Prior," I pointed up the slope, "Domitius and I have been back and forth over that ground…" I tried to count, but could only come up with, "...a few times. If you want, we can guide some men to cut those cunni off from behind."
"How many were in the group that attacked your Century?" he asked.
Domitius answered, "Not sure, but at least four hundred, maybe more."
Corvinus grimaced and shook his head, trying to decide. The clashing of metal, deeper thudding sounds of metal hitting shields, and accompanied by shouting was clear to hear now, which, I suspect, was having the same effect on Corvinus, underscoring the need for haste.
"The big fight is what we need to worry about," he muttered, "but if we get bogged down helping your Century, that isn't going to help anything." Evidently making his decision, he turned and beckoned to Galens, my former Optio, who had moved to the front.
"Go get the Second," he ordered, "and tell them to follow these two up there." He pointed. "Pullus and…Domitius," I admit that, even with all that was going on, I was impressed that Corvinus had remembered the name of someone he had met just once, briefly, "are going to lead them up and across to get behind those cunni." Galens turned to go, but Corvinus grabbed him and added, "Tell Plancus," the name of the Quartus Pilus Posterior, "that I'm not waiting on the Second to hit them, but he needs to have his cornicen sound the attack when he's in place!"
Galens saluted, then made his way as quickly as he could, while Corvinus pointed to the spot he wanted the pair of us to wait for the Second to come up. Before we could get out of the way, he had waved the First Century forward, snapping the order to throw the torches into the stream.
"We won't need those," he said loudly, then without hesitating, spun back around to face in the direction where I imagined my comrades were fighting desperately.
"Century," he bellowed, "forward!"
We stood to the side, slightly higher on the slope as the men I had marched and bled with just the year before went sweeping by, intent on coming to the aid of my newer comrades.
"Pullus!" I heard yet another familiar voice, just as the rear rank of the First passed us, followed by another, then another, calling my name, and while I recognized the voice of Appius Asinius, he was on the far side of the rank, but I saw Metellus and Bassus, both of them on what we called the "little end" of the rank, giving me a wave, albeit with their swords in their hands. Just behind them came Galens, who gave me a wave of his own, and I saw a gleam of teeth in the moonlight.
Even under the circumstances, as fatigued and hurting as I was, I felt a swelling of pride that one set of friends was marching to the aid of another, although the man to whom I had become the closest was standing next to me. There was no time to spend savoring this moment; Plancus and his Century were immediately behind the First, prompting Domitius and me to beckon to them. Since I knew Plancus at least by sight, I was the one who spoke to him.
"Follow us." I did not bother to salute, not wanting to waste time, and I heard him mutter a curse, but he scrambled up the slope without hesitation.
The sound of dozens of hobnailed boots scrambling for purchase, along with the requisite curses as men slipped, and the clattering of javelins against shields was impossible to miss, but nothing could be done about it.
I did think to tell Plancus, "The woods over there are too thick for javelins. We're going to lead you up about a hundred paces higher up, then," I pointed to the same spot Domitius and I had traversed at least twice that I could think of, "cut over that way. It'll get you going really quickly when you call for the charge, but javelins will just be in the way."
I felt him glaring at me, but then he turned and snapped an order over his shoulder for his men to discard javelins. They did not hesitate, and I had to fight a smile, knowing how happy rankers always were to hear that order; the weapon is devastating when it is appropriate to use, but it is also cumbersome, and none of us liked holding on to two of them while doing something like what we were doing right then. Quickly, the night air filled with the clattering of wooden shafts hitting the rocky slope, competing with the gasping curses of the men forced to labor straight up the hill. We were about halfway to the point Domitius and I had identified as the spot where we would make our turn to the west to move into final position, when a sudden roar erupted down on the ravine floor to our right quarter.
"Corvinus," I heard Plancus mutter, then he gasped, "Hurry! We don't want him to have all the fun!"
Frankly, although we both tried to move more quickly, I do not think it was possible for Domitius and I to climb any faster; we were both close to exhaustion. Nevertheless, we reached the spot we both thought would put us high enough, taking the opportunity to stop as we pointed west.
"About a hundred paces that way," I gasped.
Plancus gave a curt nod; I suspect he was almost as winded as we were, but he turned west, with what I assumed was his First Section right on his heels. However, looking down the slope, I was dismayed to see that just in that short climb, the Second Century had become strung out; I could just make out what I assumed was the last section of the Second starting their ascent of the slope. Corvinus' intention of moving the Second into position quickly was evaporating in front of me, but I was a Gregarius, meaning all I could do was wait helplessly, hoping that just the First Century of the Fourth would be enough to shatter the Colapiani attack. This, I thought bitterly, was part of a plan? Domitius had paused, but then he told me he was going to take Plancus the rest of the way, while he left me to direct the straggling men of the Second where to turn. When he said this, I felt a flash of fear I instantly dismissed as irrational; we had faced this nightmare together to this point, and I was not happy at the thought of being separated; fortunately, I was composed enough to understand he was right. Standing there, reaching out with my right arm, I offered a helping hand to as many men who seemed to need it as they climbed the last few feet, while pointing to the west, feeling little better than a provost. Which, I thought bitterly, is all I deserve to be, considering how I've been spending the night running back and forth instead of fighting like a Legionary should. Not helping my state of mind were the clear sounds the fight below us was reaching its climax. I felt helpless just standing there, even as a part of my mind pointed out that, not only was I at the end of my tether, my shield was gone, and my arm was still throbbing from running into the tree. Turning back to providing what help I could, I was relieved to see that it was the Tenth Section I was finally helping scramble up the slope. When a series of notes sounded, blown by what I could hear was a cornu, there were still about a half-dozen stragglers either moving in the direction of the rest of the Century, or who I was helping up, and the sudden noise made all of us jump.
"Don't want to miss the fun!" I remember saying, except the man whose arm I was grasping at that moment to help the last few feet, never answered.
The events of the next couple of heartbeats occurred in such quick succession that it is still impossible for me to determine their sequence. The words had just left my mouth when I had the sensation of something flashing past my head with a hissing sound and an accompanying puff of air, followed immediately by a deep, wet thudding sound as, simultaneously, the man's forearm was yanked from my grasp. An explosion of noise behind me, in the form of roaring voices followed so quickly that all of what I described might have happened at the same time. Whirling about, I only had an instant for my eyes to pick out a series of dark shapes moving quickly towards me from higher up the slope, draw my sword, then brace myself for the impact as the Colapiani pursuing Domitius and me finally found one of their prey.
The fastest of the Colapiani pursuers was either too eager or misjudged the distance because of the darkness; his cause was not helped by my bringing up my sword in front of me so that, like the young warrior I killed at The Quarry, he ran himself onto the point. An explosive blast from his breath washed me in an odor of wine and the distinctive smell of rotting teeth as he let out a high-pitched shriek of agony, my arm shoved backward from the impact of his body. Feeling his bulk slam into the pommel of my sword, his downward momentum was such that, even as he was dying, his body still served as a weapon so that I felt myself falling backward. I hit the hard, rocky slope with a terrific force, driving the wind from my lungs in much the same way my sword had done to my attacker; the only difference is that I was able to draw in another breath. Somehow, I had managed to tuck my chin against my chest but even so, the back flange of my helmet struck the ground hard enough that a sudden shower of what looked like sparks exploded in front of my eyes, much like when one throws a log on an already roaring fire. The Colapiani was lying on top of me, his blood covering my right hand and arm, which was now pinned between us, while our combined weight started us sliding downhill, headfirst. Even worse, he was not quite dead, making a low-pitched moaning sound, his head on my chest. Without thinking, I reached out with my only free hand, grabbing at a handful of grass, or dirt, anything to stop our slide, while the panic I had managed to keep subdued instantly resurfaced. Not only is being off your feet in a fight extremely dangerous, having a dying man's dead weight on you, pinning you to the ground, was an experience I found to be alarming. I was vaguely aware of the sounds as the men who presumably had been pursuing Domitius and me smashed into the other Romans of the last section of the Second; frankly, at the moment, my only concern was getting the body off of me so I could regain my feet. Matters were not helped by another shock of pain as my left hand finally grabbed at what felt like a rock outcropping, but whether it was from the strain on my weakened arm or because I tore a fingernail off, I could not determine. Yet, somehow, I managed to stop sliding and, using my right arm, I pushed my unwanted passenger off my body, then scrambled to my feet, gasping for air as I frantically twisted the sword from the now-dead man's midsection. The fact that he was wearing what I was sure was Roman armor meant it took quite an effort to free the blade, although I managed to do so while keeping my attention focused a few feet higher up the slope.
My unexpected slide did have one positive effect; it took me far enough downslope that there was a thin line of Romans between me and the other pursuers. Unfortunately, that was where the good news ended, because just in the heartbeat of time I returned my focus uphill, I saw one of the men of the last section, positioned to the far right of the single line, stagger backward, only stopping when he slammed into a tree. Before I could make a move to help him, my eye caught the reflection as the Colapiani who had knocked him backward used his axe one more time. The sound of an axe slamming down onto a helmeted head makes a distinctive sound, which was what I heard, although I was already moving, my legs churning as I charged back up the hill. I caught the briefest glimpse of my unknown comrade's face as he fell backward into a small patch of moonlight, his shield already tumbling downhill in my general direction, while his body hit the rocky ground as if his bones had suddenly disappeared from his body, dead before he fell. Seeing the shield out of the corner of my eye, I thought about snatching it up, but the victorious Colapiani was already turning to his right, his axe raised above his head to slash down on a Legionary who at that moment was using his own shield to block a spear thrust. Believing I was too far away to stop another man from being cut down, nevertheless, I desperately lunged with my entire body, as if I was throwing myself headlong up the slope. My foe was also carrying a shield, but he was holding it directly in front of him in anticipation of his new target making a desperate parry, since the Colapiani was approaching from his right side, out of range of the Roman's shield. This left the entire left side of the Colapiani's body vulnerable, as for the first time that night I could recall, although I misjudged the distance once more, this time it was in my favor, the Colapiani actually closer and not farther away. The point of my sword punched right through his Roman hamata, aided by my lunge with all of my weight behind it, so that at least a foot of my blade disappeared into his body. He had started to shout, I assume in anticipation of another kill of a Roman, yet what came out of his mouth was more a gurgling cough, followed by a gout of blood as he turned his head in surprise. Meanwhile, the Legionary who was his intended victim somehow managed to keep his attention on the spear-wielding barbarian, blocking another thrust that, from where I was, appeared to have been timed with the slain Colapiani's own attack. Somehow, I landed on my knees while, because he was above me on the slope, the dying warrior sagged in my direction, except this time, I managed to use my sword, still buried in his side, to steer him so that he fell beside me instead of on top of me as I once more scrambled to my feet. Wrenching the blade free again, I took a step up the slope with the aim of turning the tables on the spearman by using the same tactic he and the warrior at my feet tried, but before I could, the Legionary managed to take advantage when the spearman lunged too far forward. I heard more than saw the wet, crunching sound as the Roman's blade hit its target, but the instant my ears recognized the sound for what it was, I was already moving. Just three or four paces away, at roughly the same height on the slope I was at were four barbarian warriors left of the group I assumed had been pursuing us. Suppressing my instinct to cross the distance as quickly as possible, I forced myself to think about all that had transpired since it had gotten dark. My intent was to summon that divine rage again, thinking about the indignity and shame of being forced to drop our shields and run for our lives, and how they had essentially chased us up and down this ridge, but while I felt the anger welling up, it was not enough. There was no feeling like my blood suddenly was afire, no sheen of sweat, and no sense that I was moving faster than those around me. I was too tired; the answer came to me, and while I cannot say I was consciously thinking about a possible cause for this failure, the moment the thought crossed my mind, I knew I was right. Consequently, instead of running across the slope to slaughter the remaining Colapiani, I moved back down the slope a few paces, looking for the shield belonging to the dead Roman, knowing I would need it. It also meant I could not avoid looking at the man whose head had been split open and, honestly, I was thankful that it was dark; even in the moonlight, it was a sight I wanted to forget. Murmuring the prayer for the dead, I silently asked his blessing for taking his shield, except instead of rejoining this fight, I turned and started moving west, in the direction of my own Century. I had seen enough to know that the Tenth from the Second had matters in hand, and all I wanted at that point was to be among my friends.
What had been the longest night of my life up to that time finally came to an end, at least as far as me being forced to use my sword. Even before I managed to make my way through the trees to reach the bottom of the ravine, my ears told me the battle with the First Century was over; in fact, it had been over for some time. Corvinus' arrival had stunned the Colapiani, while Plancus' downhill attack had shattered what remained of the part of the force attacking the Century. In fact, at some point when the stragglers from the Second and I were engaging with the pursuing Colapiani, the rest of the Fourth, Seventh and Eighth Cohorts had already gone trotting west to reach the main body, whereupon they essentially did the same thing, suddenly appearing from an unexpected quarter. In fact, by the time I rejoined the First Century, the rebellion of the Colapiani had essentially been crushed. All I knew at the time, however, was that I had never been so happy to see the silhouettes of Roman helmets that actually belonged to Romans in my life. Reaching the bottom of the ravine where I did, I had to walk about a hundred paces back west, meaning I heard my Century before I saw them. But, as always, Tiburtinus kept his wits and had posted sentries, so when I got close enough for them to see that someone was coming, I heard a voice call out.
"Divus Julius!"
"Pompey Magnus," I answered wearily, and the sentry from the Fourth Section allowed me to come the rest of the way.
Despite my exhaustion, I was not unaware of the irony of being skewered by a friendly face after all I had been through this night, but thankfully, there was no threat of that. Once I got closer, however, I experienced a moment of confusion because it looked like, while Domitius and I had been away, Tiburtinus had changed his mind and actually had the men throw up a barricade. And it was, of a sort; in typical Roman fashion, Tiburtinus already had men stacking the dead barbarians, only after their bodies had been searched and anything of value taken, of course. I heard the Optio before I saw him, standing on the far side nearer to the main body, and I numbly walked in his direction, my only thought to report my presence; such is our discipline that I worried about being flogged if I did not inform my Optio of my whereabouts. All around me, men were moving about, mostly in pairs, carrying a body between them, but there were others who were bending down or kneeling beside a row of men, lying on what I assumed was each of their sagum. I did not need any more light to know what was going on there; their moans of pain and the quiet buzz of their comrades trying to comfort them told me all I needed to know. Only a few moments later did I become aware I had missed seeing another row a few paces beyond the wounded. Reaching Tiburtinus, I waited until the Optio finished giving instructions to a man from the Second Section, but when he turned around to face me, he visibly recoiled, and I saw his mouth drop open as he took a step back.
"By the gods, Pullus! Are you wounded?" Recovering, he moved back towards me to grab my shoulder plate, using it as a means to turn me a bit. "Where did it happen?" As his head bent down, I saw his nose wrinkle, and he gasped, "Were you stabbed in the gut?"
Only then did I think to look down at myself; if I had not been so exhausted, I would probably have jumped as well. The entire front of my segmentata gleamed black in the moonlight like polished ebony. Not one inch of the bare metal was visible, but I confess in that moment, I was puzzled because I could not think of when I might have gotten so thoroughly covered with blood. However, it took another moment for my fatigued mind to make sense of his question, although it was through my nose. Along with the thick, coppery smell of blood, there was a distinct odor of cac; that is when I recalled the circumstances.
"It's not mine," I mumbled, wondering why my stomach was suddenly lurching now; I had been smelling like this for some time by that point, I thought. "I gutted one of them and he fell on top of me."
Tiburtinus' head jerked in surprise.
"Landed on top of you? You mean you lost your feet in a fight? And you're still alive?" He gave the sharp, barking sound I knew was his laugh and said, "The gods are looking out for you, Pullus."
I was about to retort that I certainly did not feel that way but I refrained, mainly because I had something else on my mind.
"Where's Domitius?" I asked Tiburtinus.
The Optio's face changed, the moonlight making the sudden lines that appeared around his mouth look like black slits, while it felt like the ground suddenly shifted under my feet. I knew that look and what it meant.
"He's over there," Tiburtinus said quietly, and pointed.
It seemed to take forever for me to turn my head to follow his finger making an invisible straight line directly to where the men were lying in their row. That was when I noticed, for the first time, there were, in fact, two rows, having previously missed the one a bit farther away because there were no other men kneeling there. I also became aware that Tiburtinus could have been pointing to either one of them, and my throat suddenly closed up as I turned back to look at the Optio.
"Is he…"
"Wounded, in the shoulder," the Optio replied.
And, at last, my strength gave out, and I collapsed to the ground.
Thankfully, I did not faint, dropping only to my knees. Once more, Tiburtinus grabbed me by the edge of my shoulder plate; this time, to help me back to my feet.
"Go relieve Lutatius," he said quietly. "He's with Domitius. Tell him to come see me. I've got something for him to do."
Frankly, I do not remember if I saluted or even said anything; I just turned dumbly about and went stumbling along the line, peering down at the men next to the wounded, some of them comrades, others medici doing what they could to treat the wounded. Finally, second from the end of the line, I recognized Lutatius when he turned his face up at my approach. Relaying Tiburtinus' order, he mumbled something to Domitius, then stepped aside so I could take his place. Rather than kneel down, I collapsed onto my rear. Moonlight makes people look pale, and Domitius' face looked like bleached bone, but his eyes were open, and he was looking directly at me.
"You smell like…" he started to say, but I cut him off.
"I know," I mumbled. "Tiburtinus told me."
When I glanced down at the front of my segmentata, for the first time, I noticed there was more than just blood covering me, and my stomach lurched as I recognized there were larger gobbets of matter that I did not want to think about stuck in between the plates. Unfortunately for both of us, that was too much for my stomach, barely rolling to my hands and knees, then retching and vomiting up whatever was left in my stomach.
"That makes it worse," Domitius groaned.
"Sorry," I managed, although it did not stop me from continuing until nothing was left.
Not until I was reasonably sure that I was done did I move back next to Domitius, and it was the first time I actually examined him closely. He had already received his preliminary treatment by a medicus, so his armor was off and his upper torso was heavily wrapped, but there was already a black spot about as big around as my fist showing through the bandage. Otherwise, he seemed alert, although he was clearly hurting.
"Did they give you anything for the pain?" I asked, and he made a face.
"No, the bastards," he muttered. "Darios said that I can't have anything until the butcher examines me. If they have to go digging around in there, the wound is too close to my lung. Or," he frowned as he tried to remember, "something like that."
The news that his wound was that serious did not make me feel any better, but I tried to put a light face on matters, joking, "And you get to lie around all day and watch us work."
He did not laugh, probably because it was not that funny, or it hurt too much, but he did smile.
"All in all," he replied, "I'd rather be working."
That, I thought, was something I could understand.
Then, I asked him, "So, how did it happen?"
The ends of his mouth switched instantly, moving from an upward curve to a grimace as he said, "When Plancus and his bunch rolled down the hill, I was with them."
"Without a shield?" I gasped. "Are you mad? That was stupid!"
As usual, I spoke without thinking, but as soon as the words were out, I regretted them, remembering very well how it felt to be criticized while you were lying there with a hole in you.
Fortunately, Domitius did not seem angered, but although the smile returned, it was more rueful as he admitted, "I know that. Now. It just seemed like a good idea at the time."
The way he said it made me burst out laughing, which caused him at least to start to join in, although the sound instantly turned into a groan of pain.
"Don't make me laugh," he gasped, and, truthfully, I did feel badly at the sight of him wracked with a pain that I understood all too well.
"Me?" I protested nevertheless. "You were the one who said it."
"But I didn't want you laughing at it," he retorted.
We were quiet for a moment, then he asked me what had happened with me.
"Nothing much," I told him, but he was not fooled.
With a visible effort, he lifted his right arm to point at my segmentata and commented, "That doesn't look like 'nothing much.'"
I explained what happened and, by the time I was finished, he was regarding me with a raised eyebrow.
"And you're telling me I'm the stupid one?" he exclaimed. "How many times has someone lost their feet in a fight and lived to tell about it?"
"Not many," I was forced to admit, thinking that Tiburtinus had said essentially the same thing. "But there weren't that many of them around, and there were enough boys from the Second Century to keep the ones nearby off of me."
We both fell silent for a bit, while I watched as the rest of our comrades finished up the various tasks that must be performed after battle. One slight difference I noticed but did not think anything of at the time was that men were pulling off the hamata of every dead man wearing one, along with collecting those helmets that had caused Domitius and me such confusion, placing both in two separate piles. When I glanced over once at Domitius, his eyes were closed, and my heart suddenly raced as I leaned over to examine him closely, the relief at the sound of his breathing so powerful that he started shimmering as my eyes filled with tears. Not wanting him to see me in that state, I straightened back up, turning my face away to watch the others as, with their tasks accomplished, they were finally given leave by Tiburtinus to rest. While most of them immediately collapsed on the ground themselves, some turned and headed to where we were sitting, coming to check on friends. I recognized the figure of Caecina, realizing with some surprise that he was more visible than a short time before, and I turned to see that the eastern horizon was turning pink, signaling the end of the night. Watching him approach, I was surprised that he did not come immediately towards Domitius and me; this was my first indication that Domitius was not the only loss suffered by the First Section. Stopping at a spot farther down the line of wounded, I saw our Sergeant bend over one man, but they were too far away and it was still not light enough. Spending a moment there, I expected Domitius to be his next stop, but it was not. Just two men down from the first one, this time he squatted down; by this point, I could see his mouth moving, although the low hum of conversations and the distance precluded me from hearing anything. Once more, he stood, but again, he did not make it to us, except this time, he did not stop at another wounded man, instead walking between the wounded the short distance to the other row. I felt a gasp escape me as the meaning of his actions hit me, and I turned to ask Domitius, but not only was he still either asleep or unconscious, I realized he would have no more idea than I did. Watching our Sergeant, I saw him slowly walk down the row of the dead, examining each face, which are left uncovered until the final butcher's bill is tallied, and the close comrade, holder of the deceased's will comes and places the coin in the dead man's mouth. Only then is it considered official and the man's face can be covered. In this case, our sagum served not only the wounded, but as a shroud for our dead, and while I watched Caecina, I took the time to count out twenty-two bodies.
"Pluto's cock," I muttered; that was more than ten percent of our Century dead!
I sensed a stirring beside me, and I looked down to see Domitius, staring up at me with a frown.
"You woke me up!" he said grumpily, but I suppose my expression told him something was amiss, because he asked, "Titus, what is it?"
Sighing, I hesitated, then decided he would know soon enough.
"Caecina is over there, checking on the dead," I said quietly.
Domitius frowned, clearly struggling to understand my meaning, reminding me how hard it is to concentrate when it feels like a lit torch is being thrust into your body.
"Oh," he finally said softly, closing his eyes again. "Oh, fuck. How many?"
I kept my eyes on Caecina, and saw him stop at another body, then reach down into his coin purse.
"Two," I replied, then under my breath, added, "so far. But he's not at the end of the line yet."
Thankfully, he continued down the row without stopping again, which also put him near the end where Domitius lay, and he turned to head directly for us. At least he's not smiling this time, I thought.
Because of the way he was approaching from behind Domitius' head, my body was partially turned away as I looked over my shoulder at him, but when he was still a couple paces away, I asked him, "Who?"
He slowed, although he understood the question and said softly, "Nigidius," he hesitated, then, "and Dentulus."
Both Domitius and I gasped, except in his case, it made him groan from the stab of pain, while I sat there in disbelief. Being frank, Nigidius was not that much of a surprise; during our sparring sessions, I had noticed he had a couple of bad habits, yet despite Bestia's best attempts to correct them, my guess was that one of them was his undoing. Dentulus, on the other hand, was a shock. Not only was he one of the oldest men in our Century – which in the First of the First meant he was the most experienced – he was Bestia's close comrade and best friend. I could not count the number of times I had seen the pair working together and, frankly, I would have put Dentulus as the third best man in our Century with a sword; I will leave who ranked ahead of him remain open to the imagination.
"How?" I finally asked, but Caecina could not help.
"I don't know," he answered, yet while I did not trust the man, I felt confident he was being honest, nor do I believe his grief was feigned. "It was dark. They were fucking everywhere. It was," he concluded, "a real mess."
"Who else is wounded?" Domitius spoke up, looking up at Caecina, which the Sergeant seemed to notice, because before he answered, he took a couple steps and squatted next to me so that Domitius did not have to crane his neck.
"Mela." He held up a finger. "Didius." Another finger. "You." This, he said with a grin, and I saw Domitius smile wanly. "And," then he looked over at me, "Avitus."
"Avitus?" I gasped, then I stood up, looking down the row before I saw him, the light strong enough now to recognize faces from that distance. I was about to move, then thought better of it, looking down and asking Caecina, "How badly?"
"Not as bad as Domitius here," he assured me, sending another wave of relief through me, and I remember thinking that the up and down nature of my emotions was proving quite wearisome. "It's his shoulder too, but it didn't go all the way through, and it's higher up. He'll need to be stitched up, and he'll have trouble lifting a sword for a few days, but he'll be fine."
"And this was all part of the Primus Pilus' plan?"
The words were out before I could stop myself, the bitterness and anger I felt strong enough that even I could hear it. Caecina stood up straight; as he closed the distance between us, I had the thought that his expression was probably identical to mine, one of the few times we were of a like mind.
"Watch your mouth, Pullus," he hissed, staring up at me with little more than a hand's breadth between us.
That, I am sure, was when the smell hit him, because I saw his nose wrinkle, and despite the tension, he could not stop his eyes from dropping to look at my chest. Gagging, he took a step backward with what I imagine was the same look of revulsion that Tiburtinus had shown when he first got a whiff of me; by this time, though, it was light enough for me to see.
"What the fuck is that stench?"
I shrugged; I cannot say I had become accustomed to it, but I suppose I had already ejected all of my stomach's contents, and I was at least inured to the smell. Also, I had been careful not to look down too closely.
"Someone's guts," I said helpfully. "At least, I think."
"By the gods," Caecina covered his mouth with one hand, then pointed to the stream, which was behind me on the far side of the ravine, "go clean that filth off! We're about to march out of here, and I don't want the men around you puking all the way back to camp."
Frankly, I was more than happy to comply, but my hope that the moment would be forgotten was dashed when, before I had gone a dozen steps, he called out to me.
"Pullus," he said coldly, "this conversation isn't over. But," he waved a disgusted hand, "go take care of that first."
I did not bother to salute, nor even acknowledge him as I went to the stream. Honestly, my mind was elsewhere already, knowing that the chances of Caecina not telling Urso of my outburst were non-existent.
It took quite a bit of scrubbing, using gravelly sand from the bottom of the stream to scrub the plates of my segmentata, yet it was still far from spotless when Tiburtinus bellowed at me to rejoin the Century. However, instead of falling into my normal spot, I went to the middle of the formation, where Domitius and the other wounded were being carried on stretchers made with two javelins and a sagum. I took the end where Domitius' head was, and I saw his eyes open, probably from the jostling as I took the two shafts from a man from the last section who, unsurprisingly, did not put up a fight. While none of us shirk from carrying a wounded comrade, it is an exhausting business, and the instant I took the weight of Domitius, my left arm screamed how bad an idea this was. For a heartbeat, I considered calling back the original bearer, but then my pride took over again. Besides, I reasoned, we're going back to the main camp, which is only about four miles away; the fact that it had taken a third of a watch to navigate the last mile coming this direction was something that I forgot.
"Don't drop me," Domitius mumbled, and I promised I would not.
The First began marching, but only went a short distance before we reached the rest of the detachment and, for the first time, I saw that, as tough as the fight with the First Century had been, the four other Centuries of the First, and the five Centuries of the Second and Sixth had faced the brunt of the Colapiani attack. The sun was just now fully up above the hills, giving us all a good look at the aftermath of the fight. In the same way, Urso, who had remained with the main body, had ordered men to pile the bodies of the Colapiani dead; the difference between the two scenes, at least to my eye, was that it appeared there were perhaps five times as many bodies, and that the barbarians had managed to penetrate much farther onto the ravine floor. My eye was not as experienced as most of my comrades', but I read the signs well enough. While the barbarians attacking the First Century had come thundering down the southern slope, they had never managed to push the First more than a couple dozen paces back from the northern edge of the stream, which the attackers had to cross once they reached the bottom of the slope, not that it was much of an obstacle. Such was not the case here; as we waited for the Centurions to get things sorted out, I tried to calculate how deeply the enemy had managed to penetrate our line, estimating that the last pile of Colapiani bodies were almost a hundred paces from the northern edge of the stream, actually closer to the opposite slope than the one from which they had attacked. At first, I thought that perhaps Urso had formed his line of Centuries, arrayed parallel to the stream just as we had, but farther back than the half-dozen paces Tiburtinus had ordered. A quick glance at the banks of the stream disabused me of that idea; the ground was churned up and there were dark stains, bent javelins, several shattered shields, both Roman and barbarian, scattered just a couple paces from the bank of the stream closest to the opposite slope. One glance over to the northern side of the ravine told me there had not been any surprises like at The Quarry, with another force hurtling down that slope to slam into our rear; the leader of this ambush, presumably Draxo, had placed all of his strength and gambled everything in attacking down the southern side of the ravine. That was all the time I had to try to decipher the scene before me; the cornu sounded the command, and I squatted down, waiting until the man holding Domitius' feet – who turned out to be Lutatius – did the same before we stood. Then we began shuffling forward, moving westward, back to the main road where we would make a left turn and take south back to the camp. While I had a better idea of what had taken place the night before, there were a lot more questions than answers, but despite my normal impatience, I reminded myself that before too much time had passed and if I kept my mouth shut, I would learn more than I ever wanted to know about all that transpired. It was hard keeping that thought in front of my mind, but fairly quickly, I realized it would take all of my concentration and energy just to avoid dropping Domitius. With the light, I was able to see my arm, although I wished I had not looked. The rough bark had scraped against the tender, pink scar tissue, and there were several spots that were torn open, leaving crusted scabs covering almost half of the scar. At least my hand is shaped right to hold the stretcher, I remember thinking as I tried to focus on more positive things.
"You still stink, you know."
I looked down, surprised to see that Domitius had opened his eyes again; it was a strange sight, looking at him directly underneath me but upside down, with his mouth above his eyes instead of the other way around, the normal way.
"Shut up," I grunted, but then, to my horror, I stumbled a step, my foot striking a partially buried rock.
"You bastard," he yelped. "You did that on purpose!"
Although I truly had not, I told him, "Then you might want to be nice to me. We still have a long way to go." I could not help giving him an evil grin as I finished, "And you know my left arm is still weak. I just hope it holds out."
"You wouldn't," he gasped, but when I saw his eyes searching my face, I felt a stab of shame at teasing a wounded man, so I assured him he was in good hands.
"I'm not going to drop you," I promised.
"Good," he replied, but I saw his eyes closing again, and although he mumbled something, I could not make it out.
Maybe they gave him poppy syrup anyway, I thought, hoping that was the case, instead of him becoming weaker from his wound as it continued to bleed but inside his body. I spent the rest of the time carrying him continually glancing down to make sure he was breathing. Thankfully, he was.
I cannot really say at what point on that march that took almost two full watches to go five miles I started paying more attention than to just not dropping Domitius. But when I began glancing about and, more importantly, watching and listening to the other men who were acting as stretcher-bearers talking, I learned quite a bit about a number of matters. The first thing I noticed with my eyes was that our column was not as long as it should have been; the nearest men behind us were men in the Second Century, and it was from them we learned that while Corvinus' Fourth was still with us, the Second Cohort, along with the Sixth, Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth had left shortly after dawn.
"I don't know why for sure," the man from the Second told us, "but I heard the Centurions talking that they're going ahead because they have so many wounded they wanted to give the medici back in camp the chance to take care of that bunch before we show up." He shrugged. "I don't know if that's true."
"Did you see how many stretcher cases they had?" I asked him.
"A lot," he answered glumly. "Maybe not quite as many as us, but close."
From behind us in the next rank of men carrying wounded, I heard someone say, "I heard that it wasn't supposed to be like this, because the Third's bunch was supposed to come from the west." He paused to spit on the ground to show what he thought of that. "But they supposedly got lost in the dark."
I could not risk looking back over my shoulder to see who had said this, not that it would have mattered all that much. Yet, the surprises were not over.
"That's only part of it," a new voice, also behind me, exclaimed. "If that idiot Tribune hadn't panicked, it wouldn't have mattered if the fucking Third and the rest showed up."
From the bottom of my vision, I saw Domitius' head move suddenly, and I glanced down to see that he was awake again, clearly hearing the man behind us.
"What do you mean?" he asked, but his voice was too weak, so he looked at me and repeated the question, which I passed along.
"I mean," the unseen informant said disgustedly, "that the cocksucker," as normally happens, his voice dropped lower at the use of the epithet, just in case there were nearby unseen ears underneath a transverse crest, "panicked when those barbarian cunni came barreling down that fucking hill. Oh," he allowed, "there were a lot of them, and they were moving faster than I've ever seen before, and they were making a lot of fucking noise. But the Primus Pilus had us all prepared for everything." He paused as we navigated a particularly bumpy stretch of ground, yet despite my best efforts, I saw Domitius wince in pain as I stumbled.
"Sorry," I muttered to him, but he waved his right hand.
"You're doing your best." His attempt to make me feel better actually made me feel worse, although I did not say anything.
"Anyway, where was I?" Our informant broke the brief silence, and we reminded him. "Yes, that's right. So, the Primus Pilus actually had us lie down, right enough, but we were all still wearing our armor, and not one of us was asleep. Except for Pomponius." He laughed. "That bastard can sleep through anything. But the rest of us were ready and waiting to jump up, quick as fucking Pan, and it was no accident that he had us lying in our normal spots in formation, I can tell you that!"
A flicker of unexpected admiration hit me as the thought rose unbidden in my head that, no matter what his other failings, Primus Pilus Canidius knew what he was about when it came to fighting.
"But then that fucking Tribune, the uppity one; what's his name?"
"Paullus," several of us supplied, and he continued, "Yes! That's the one! The Primus Pilus had stuck the three of them on the far side of the ravine, away from any of the fighting. But that cunnus Tribune thought he heard men crashing around on the other slope, and he ran to Varo," he named Urso's cornicen, "and ordered him to sound the orbis!"
"Why did Varo do it?" I demanded, but in truth, I was not the only one.
"Because it's a fucking Tribune ordering him to do it, isn't it?"
I heard the defensiveness in the man's tone, which reminded me that this man and Varo were friends when off duty; I had seen them often out in Siscia, carousing together. Regardless of that connection, I forced myself to acknowledge that Varo had been in a tough spot no matter what.
"That's why we heard the cornu giving the command," Domitius spoke up from his spot; I had not realized he was paying attention.
"So, naturally, all the Centuries who were lined up in relief, waiting for the Primus Pilus to order them up to support the first line, went running the other way," our informant continued. "It was fucking chaos, I can tell you that! But the only reason those fucking savages managed to break the first line was because we didn't have the support. They got into our midst, and it was a right fucking mess."
"Didn't the Centuries who formed the other side of the orbis realize there was nothing going on over on that side?"
I could not see who asked it, but I thought it was a good question.
"They did," the supplier of this piece of information agreed, "but when they tried to come back, that fucking idiot wouldn't let them move. Swore that he'd see every Centurion who moved his Century from their spot not just busted back to the ranks, but executed! He kept shouting, 'Don't you know who my father is?' over and over." To my surprise, he had done a creditable job of sounding like Paullus. "So none of them moved."
"What happened?"
"The Primus Pilus came running over to find out what the problem was. Oh, I thought he was going to run that Tribune through!"
If we had been lucky, I thought grimly, that would have solved two problems very neatly.
"They screamed at each other, but then one of the other Tribunes, the one with the curly hair…"
"Claudius," I supplied the name.
"…yes, him. He came running up and, without saying a word, he punched that Paullus right in the mouth! It not only knocked him down; he was out before he hit the ground! Well," he finished, "that settled things nicely, at least for the Primus Pilus. With the other Centuries, we managed to push those bastards back."
"When did the Fourth show up?" I asked.
"About the same time," the man admitted. "But we already had it in hand. They just put the finishing touches on it."
I glanced down at Domitius, who winked at me, telling me he was thinking along the same lines. No Legionary worth his salt is willing to admit he ever needs help. It might have been just as the other stretcher-bearer described, but I also knew it was just as likely that the Fourth and the other Cohorts had been what was needed to shatter the attack. That, I knew, would be the fodder for many an argument through the winter.
We arrived at the camp around midday and, as we marched in, we were surrounded by the men of the Cohorts who had already marched back, including the previously missing Cohorts. Whenever I saw such scenes, it reminded me of how tightly knit the men of the Legions are; whether just friends or blood relatives, we are all brothers. Of all the things I find difficult to explaining to citizens who have never served and who only have either seen or heard tales of brawls between men, this is at the top of the list. No matter how much we squabble with each other, no matter how bloody those quarrels become, when there is an enemy from without drawing blood, we are as one. Those who had already returned to camp lined the street from the Porta Praetoria all the way to the Quaestorium, and the men not tasked with carrying the wounded stopped in the forum, while the rest of us were directed to the hospital. Lutatius and I carried Domitius into the tent, which was a scene of even greater chaos than normal. The physician, naturally the same man who treated me, was standing there, assessing each man as he was brought in.
When he saw me, I suppose he could not stop himself from remarking, "Gregarius, at least this time, you're not the one on the stretcher!"
"This time," I agreed, grinning at him despite the grim circumstances, but emboldened by his recognition, I told him, "Take care of this man. He's a hero of the Legions!"
Domitius cursed me roundly, but the medicus assigned to the hospital came and took him away, assuring him that his sagum, serving as his stretcher, would be returned to him. Seeing that we were no longer needed, Lutatius and I turned and left the area, heading for our area.
"You know," he turned to me, "you don't smell very good."
"I know." I was not even angry. "I've heard."
Because this was a marching camp, there were no bathing facilities, so I was reduced to just being rubbed down with olive oil and scraped by the section slave, but not before I attended to my armor. Ultimately, I was forced to unbuckle each piece, then, using boiling hot water, bathe each plate in the scalding liquid while scrubbing with a horsehair brush that I had gotten from someone. Only then was I satisfied; more importantly, so were my comrades. Our tent was noticeably emptier, but we were so absorbed in the series of tasks given to us by our Optio, I know that I, for one, did not have time to dwell on our losses, which I assume was the same for the others. This, as I knew, was no accident; men are kept busy as much as possible immediately after a battle, especially one as bloody as this had been. Despite the complicated relationships I had with some of the men of the First Section, First Century, I was still happier to be back among them than I had been at any time during the previous night and day. Bestia was clearly grieving; I had learned by asking around that he and Dentulus had been close comrades for more than a decade, coming into the First together. Consequently, he was understandably somber and, given our complicated history, I felt awkward approaching him. Besides, I told myself, there are other men he would feel better commiserating with about losing his best friend than me. But very quickly, I realized I missed having Domitius around, so that once we had finished all of our tasks and were allowed the liberty of the camp, I went immediately to the hospital. In this, I was not alone; after a fight like this, at the end of the official day, there is a steady stream of men heading to see their friends, or in some cases, relatives. Domitius was actually not in the main tent, but had been put in one of the three other tents, smaller than the hospital but larger than even the quarters of the Primus Pilus, so it took a fair amount of time to find him. But I finally did, in the middle of a row of men, and I was happy to see that at least on either side of him was Didius to his left and Avitus to his right. Next to Avitus was Mela, but being completely honest, I barely acknowledged his presence, although I did spend some time with Avitus. We were not as close as Domitius and I, but marching beside a man means you will either grow to like him, or loathe him. Fortunately, Avitus was in the former category. He was about two inches shorter than I was, but while his build was slightly larger across the chest and shoulders than a man like my father, who is long and lean, he was not blessed with the same physique as me, for which I can admit now I was secretly thankful. Still, he was a good sort, if somewhat dull, but like every man in the First of the First, he was a formidable fighter in his own right. Once I had checked on him, happy to see that Caecina had been accurate about his wound, I turned to Domitius. His bandage had been changed at this point, the bloodstained bandage replaced, but as he informed me, the physician had been forced to rummage around in the hole in his shoulder, extracting a scrap of his padded undershirt.
"It hurt like Dis," he was telling me, but I tried to point out that he had been fortunate that the physician had managed to find the scrap and fish it out.
However, he was not convinced.
"Maybe," his tone was grumpy, and I recognized he was determined to feel sorry for himself, "but it's just as likely that he missed part of my tunic. I mean," he insisted, looking up at me with an expression that told me he was looking for reassurance, "what if he didn't find everything?"
"Look at me." I tried to soothe him, pointing to my arm. "Yes, he may not be the gentlest, but I'm back to almost as good as new because of him."
Unfortunately, Domitius was not convinced, and he pointed with his good hand to my scabbed arm and said, "That doesn't look 'good as new,'" he retorted. "And you didn't have to worry about anything pushed into the wound like I do!"
"Fine!" I snapped, my patience gone. "You're right! He probably missed something, and the wound is probably going to corrupt! There! Are you satisfied?"
His stricken expression made me feel horrible almost before I finished speaking, and I found myself reaching out with my own good arm to pat him awkwardly.
"I'm sorry, Domitius," I began, but before I could go any farther, he made a sharp chopping motion.
"Stop it!" he interrupted me, but I was not prepared for him to continue. "If you keep calling me Domitius, it'll drive me mad! My name is Titus. Just like yours," he finished softly, and for yet another time, I felt my vision clouding.
"I know your name," I mumbled, "but it just sounds strange to call you by my name."
His laugh was weak, but it was genuine.
"It's not like we have that many names to choose from," he pointed out, and I found myself joining in, laughing at the odd truth of that statement.
We just sat quietly for a time then, and if he was like me, he was trying to block out the sounds of men who had suffered much more severe wounds. When I broke the silence and made some inane comment he did not answer, and I glanced down to see that he had fallen asleep. Checking on Avitus one more time, I left the tent to return to my own, but although there was still some time to go before the call to retire, I collapsed on my cot, not even bothering to take off my boots, and I awoke the next morning in the exact same position.
As normal, we did not break camp the next day, waiting while the Primus Pilus and the other Centurions reorganized the Legion's leadership positions, replacing men who had been lost in the fight. And, although Tiburtinus had made it through the night relatively unharmed – he had sustained a slashing wound across his left arm, just under his shoulder plate, that required a few stitches – we still lost our Optio. It was just after midday, and the remainder of the section was loafing outside our tents, enjoying the sunshine and exchanging tales of the night before, when we saw the Optio approaching. As we jumped to intente, he waved us back to our spots on the ground, and I immediately thought he had an unusual expression on his face. I was not alone, and I exchanged a glance with Lutatius, who shrugged his answer. He looks, I remember thinking, embarrassed, which was so unusual that it was instantly unsettling. Even stranger was that Tiburtinus stood there for a moment, seemingly absorbed in looking at the clump of dirt-crusted grass that had somehow survived being trampled by us to that point, his head down so his face was partially hidden.
"Well, Optio?" Caecina was smiling, but I could sense he was feeling as uneasy as the rest of us. "You look like you have something on your mind, so don't keep us in suspense! What is it?"
The Optio reacted to that, his head coming up sharply and, for an instant, I relaxed because he looked as if he was about to administer a tongue-lashing to Caecina, which was not only a pleasing thought, it was behavior we were more accustomed to than what he was displaying an instant before.
"I'm leaving the Century," he blurted out.
There was a stunned silence, and when I glanced across at where Caecina, Ventidius, and Geta were sitting, I saw that their mouths were hanging open, the shock clear to see, exactly the same emotion I was feeling. Although I do not remember my mouth dropping open, but otherwise, I felt exactly the way they looked.
"But, why?" one of my comrades asked.
"I've been promoted," Tiburtinus replied, but he said it slowly, as if he was trying on the words to see if they fit.
The silence ended as the section shouted in surprise and joy, my voice among them, while all of us who were seated jumped to our feet, although for some of us it was more a case of pulling ourselves up with a groan because of the aches we were feeling that day; I was one of the slowest. Nevertheless, we crowded around our Optio, offering him our congratulations and throwing questions at him.
"Who's replacing you?"
I do not remember who asked, but we immediately fell silent; as happy as we were for our Optio, the identity of his replacement was in many ways more important. Only later did the fact that before Tiburtinus answered he looked over at me, our eyes meeting in a way I understood was no accident, although I did not know the meaning, did the significance of that glance become clear.
"I don't know exactly," he replied. "All I know is that it's someone from another Cohort."
This was met with universal disapproval; dealing with a new Optio is always a chore, but one not accustomed to the ways of even the Cohort, let alone the Century, meant the adjustment period would be even greater, and in all likelihood, more difficult. Tiburtinus was content to let us go on, bemoaning our own fate, but I realized there was still one thing we had not learned.
"So, where are you going?" I asked him.
I cannot say with any certainty, but I got the sense that he was pleased that someone cared enough to ask.
"I'm heading to the Ninth," he replied. "Hastatus Prior."
"Did they lose anyone?" I was puzzled; the Ninth had not even been involved in the action the night before.
"No, but you know how it is," the Optio said. "Men are being shuffled up the ladder to fill spots in the Centuries that took losses."
That was true, we all knew, and we resumed congratulating our Optio, who was still clearly embarrassed and pleased in equal measure. At the same time, I saw by the expressions of the others that, mingled with the congratulations, was a sense of sympathy that he was going to the worst Cohort in the Legion.
Finally, he waved a hand and said, "Well, I have to go tell the other sections." He turned to go, but just as I was about to resume my seat, he called out, "Pullus, walk with me for a bit."
Naturally, I did as he bid, although I felt the eyes of the rest of the section boring into my back, which I ignored. Joining Tiburtinus I walked beside him the short distance to the Second Section, although he stopped short of their tents. I could not help noticing that when he did, he positioned himself so that his back was to my comrades so that I faced him, meaning I could not avoid seeing Caecina's one-eyed gaze still fixed on us, while the others were talking in an excited manner, their hands moving about as they commented and commiserated with each other on our Optio's departure.
"I wanted to let you know I told the Primus Pilus you were the one who warned us that the savages were about to show up," he began, but I raised a hand to cut him off.
"How do you know it was me?" I replied. "It could have been Domitius. Honestly, I don't remember yelling anything." I shook my head and tried to sound sincere. "I'm almost positive it was Domitius, Optio. You should be telling the Primus Pilus."
I was a bit concerned that Tiburtinus would not appreciate this, but he seemed more amused than anything else.
"Pullus, you're a terrible liar." His tone was more amiable than his words. "And while I'm sure Domitius would appreciate your trying to give him the credit, you forget that your voice is…distinctive." He smiled at what I knew was an understatement.
He was right, of course, at least about my voice; my parents had constantly been reprimanding me because of my habit of bellowing at the top of my lungs, and as they got bigger, I got louder.
More embarrassed than anything, I did not reply; I just looked down at the ground as he continued, "Anyway, I told the Primus Pilus. Except he already knew."
That prompted me to look back up at him, except now I was not happy at all; in fact, I was the opposite of happy, because in my mind, the fact that Urso knew already indicated that someone in my Century had told him, which I did not view in a positive light at all. Such was my state of mind that it did not occur to me that one of the men in my Century would have a positive motivation to tell Urso about anything I did. Fortunately, at least in this case, my concern was misplaced.
"How?" I asked while my mind was racing through every possible suspect among my comrades. "Who told him before you did?"
"Nobody," his amusement was clear to see, "because he heard you bellowing as well."
"From that far away?" I was surprised, to put it mildly.
"Sounds do travel farther at night," Tiburtinus reminded me, but he grinned as he finished, "Especially when the one doing the bellowing could split rocks with their voice."
Of all the compliments and accolades I have received over the years, this one still ranks as the most unusual, and one that I am not sure was truly meant as a compliment. Nevertheless, I tried to accept it as if it was, mumbling something about doing my duty.
"But that's actually not why I wanted to talk to you." He dropped his voice even lower, but it was the change in tone that was more unsettling. "I have some news that I didn't want to share with the rest of them."
If he had meant to enlighten me about his motives, it did not work, because now I was even more puzzled, but again, I said nothing, hoping he would clear up my confusion.
"As I said, the new Optio is from another Cohort," he began. "But I lied about not knowing who it is. I do know." He paused and then continued, "It's a man from the Fourth Cohort."
That was certainly interesting, yet I still did not understand why he was being so secretive; there were a lot of men in the Fourth.
"The First Century of the Fourth."
Suddenly, I understood, and if I had been paying close attention before, now I was staring intently at him. Still, he did not utter the name right away and I know he was tormenting me.
"So?" I finally broke the silence. "Who is it? Or is that all you're going to tell me?"
He smiled again, but he relented. "Your new Optio is going to be Appius Asinius."
I dimly heard someone gasp, which I suppose was me, but this was such a surprise that it actually caused me to take a physical step back. Although I was still looking at Tiburtinus, I caught a glimpse of Caecina over his shoulder, whose eyes had obviously never left me because now he was making no attempt to hide his interest, staring in our direction.
"Asinius?" I finally managed to get out, but clearly, I did not remember we were still supposed to be whispering, because a look of alarm crossed Tiburtinus' face, and he reached out to grab my arm.
Thankfully, he remembered to grip my upper arm, except it still made me wince as he whispered furiously, "Keep your voice down, idiot! I'm telling you this but I don't want…" He stopped himself before uttering a name, but I knew who he meant. "Anyway, this was for you and you alone, understand? Keep it to yourself."
Frankly, I did not understand why, since the others would learn very soon, but Tiburtinus was unmoved, insisting that I keep it a secret. Naturally, I agreed, although I still had more questions than answers.
"But…why?" I blurted out. "I mean, why Asinius? And how did Ur…the Primus Pilus end up picking someone who's not…?"
I did not finish, but not just because I had no need to do so for our outgoing Optio to understand; I had just been struck by another possible explanation, one that was almost as horrible and certainly as unsettling as if Urso had promoted Caecina himself. What if, I thought miserably, Urso picked Asinius because he was one of Urso's off-the-books men? It was true he had not been present when we had gone on the excursion that ended up with Draxo and the Colapiani revolting, yet that did not necessarily mean anything. Once this possibility hit me, my mind immediately began running in much the same way Domitius and I had been sprinting from our pursuers the night before. Would it not make sense, I wondered, that Urso had purposely excluded Asinius from any activities I was involved in, waiting for the right situation to make me aware that a man I trusted with my life was actually another of his own?
"Did you hear me?"
Startled, I forced my mind back to the moment, seeing that Tiburtinus was clearly impatient.
"Sorry," I managed. "I was…"
"I don't care what you were thinking about. I can't waste any more time on this; I have a lot to do today. What I said was, talk to Corvinus."
Before I could ask him what that could possibly mean, he sidestepped me and resumed his progress to the next section, leaving me more befuddled than when he had called me away. Not wanting to, I nevertheless returned to my own section, facing the open curiosity of my comrades.
"What was that about?"
The fact that Lutatius asked this made lying to him more problematic than if it had been Caecina; I had come to trust Lutatius, if only because Domitius did so completely, but our Sergeant was standing a couple paces away, making no attempt to hide his interest.
Deciding on the spot that a half-truth was better than a complete lie, I said, "He just wanted to let me know that the Primus Pilus heard me yelling last night."
This actually brought a couple of chuckles from the others, and Lutatius replied, "That's no big news. I heard one of the boys from the Sixth saying they heard you all the way back here." The chuckles turned to laughter as Lutatius finished, "But they thought that it was a cow elk in heat!"
To that point, I had never enjoyed being the butt of a joke as much as I did then, if only because it got my comrades talking about other things and allowed me to escape further questions. Even so, I was acutely aware that, for once, Caecina was the only one not laughing.
Thanks to traditions that dated back for gods know how many decades or centuries, I was able to move freely about the camp that day, as men visited friends in other Centuries and Cohorts, swapping stories and just enjoying being among the living. Nevertheless, I announced to the others I was going to the hospital, and actually walked in that direction. Except, instead of entering the tent where Domitius and the others were, I ducked behind it, but only after checking to see if Caecina, or anyone else, for that matter, were following. I did not see any signs, but the street around the forum, Praetorium, and Quaestorium almost looked like market day in Siscia, so I was not completely sure I was not being observed. Still, I moved quickly, circling back around on the opposite side of the Praetorium, heading to the Fourth's area. I was hoping to find Asinius first, but I did not see him; I assume that even then, he was either at the Quaestorium, drawing the necessary items that are part of an Optio's kit, or perhaps even meeting with Urso. My next hope was to see Optio Galens, but he was not around either. I did run into Metellus, and we greeted each other with a hug, both of us happy to see the other, although he frowned at my arm.
"Last time I saw you, that was healing," he said accusingly, as if I had scraped it on purpose. "So what stupid thing did you go and do now?"
I had to laugh; his chastisement came from concern, and it actually made me feel good to know that I still had men who cared about my well-being.
"The usual," I admitted, prompting a snort from Metellus, but I changed the subject, asking, "Is the Pilus Prior around?"
Metellus shrugged, saying, "I saw him go into his tent after morning formation, but not since, so he's probably there. Why?"
"Oh, no reason," I lied, then taking the same approach of using a partial truth, I said, "We ran into each other last night, but that was before you boys got involved in the excitement."
Metellus snorted again, reminding me this was a characteristic of his, and he replied, "I know you did! Remember I was there?" In fact, I had forgotten, but before I could say anything, he continued, "And 'excitement' is an understatement. Last night was the biggest mess I've ever seen." He shook his head, finishing, "I mean, Pullus, those bastards were everywhere."
That confused me a bit, and I asked, "Are you talking about when you got to us? The First Century?"
He shook his head. "No, that was nothing. We hit those bastards from the flank right enough, but they were already about to crack. Then, when Plancus came from behind, they ran. Or," he smiled grimly, "they tried to run. No, I'm talking about when we pushed on to help the rest of your Cohort and the others."
That made more sense, although I did feel compelled to offer up a defense of my Cohort, telling him, "Well, the reason it was such a mess is because…"
"I know," he interrupted. "I heard. That fucking Tribune." He suddenly gave me a speculative look. "What have you heard about that? Is that bastard going to be punished?"
"How should I know?" I asked.
"Because you're in the First of the First," he retorted, "and in the First Section, as I recall. That means you're standing right next to the Primus Pilus all the time."
Suddenly, I was reminded that, of all the good qualities Servius Metellus possessed that made him a good Gregarius, he was not particularly gifted when it came to matters requiring a level of deep thinking. Still, I had no desire to seem mean-spirited with a man I considered a friend, especially at a time when I felt so isolated and with so few of them.
"I've barely seen the Primus Pilus at all since yesterday," I told him honestly, "and I haven't heard much at all about that part of the fight."
I could see he was disappointed, but he also clearly understood. We parted then, with one more hug and kisses on each cheek, then I resumed walking to the quarters of the Pilus Prior. Rapping against the board that is always hung outside the tents of our officers, instead of waiting for Lysander to answer, I pushed my way through the flap. The secretary was seated there, head bent over as he tallied something in a wax tablet, and when he looked up in irritation at the interruption, I saw the dark circles under his eyes, reminding me that every clerk in the Legion does double duty. Lysander worked in the hospital at night, then returned to his normal duties. When we are in garrison, either during the winter or when we are not out in the field, this was not a burden, but at times like this, these men, despite their lowly station, are vital to those of us who do the fighting. My ignoring normal procedure was based in the fact that, not only had I been a member of this Cohort just the year before, Lysander had been the Cohort clerk for as long as I could remember. Seeing me now, he sat back and sighed, frowning, but with the air of an indulgent uncle who was accustomed to the actions of an unruly nephew.
"Titus," he shook his head, "I suppose I should have known that you would be the only one undisciplined enough to not wait for permission."
I grinned at him, the same way I did when I was a child and had been caught trying to sneak past him to get into my father's office. And, as I suspected, he could not stay irritated.
"Is he in?" I asked, but although he nodded, he held up a hand.
"Titus," he warned, "he's not in a good mood. He's lost three men to promotion today, and now he's trying to decide who should go in their spots."
"Well," I answered smugly, happy to show off that I possessed inside knowledge, "I know about Asinius. Who are the others?"
His look of surprise made me feel very proud of myself, but Lysander had his own disclosure that I knew nothing about.
"Well, one of them is Optio Galens," he told me.
I do not know why that shocked me, but it did, and I asked him, "Where is he going?"
"To the Sixth Century," he paused, clearly building the suspense as a form of revenge, "of the First Cohort."
For the second time, I felt my mouth drop open, although this time, I managed to stand still and not stagger about.
"That's," I thought carefully before finding the right word, "unusual, isn't it?"
Lysander did not answer verbally, just shrugging as he looked up at me.
Finally, he evidently realized I was not going anywhere because he sighed again, standing up as he said, "Wait here. I'll see if the Pilus Prior has time for you."
The fact that Pilus Prior Corvinus not only agreed to see me, but waved to me to sit down instead of what would be normal behavior for a Gregarius seeking an audience with a Centurion, made me even more nervous.
"Let me guess," he began the conversation. "You've heard who your new Optio is."
"I have," I agreed, but when I opened my mouth to ask the question I had rehearsed, nothing came out. Finally, I just said, "It's…interesting."
That actually caused Corvinus' mouth to turn upward slightly, and he granted, "That's certainly one way to put it. But that doesn't explain why you felt the need to come see me, does it?"
"No," I admitted. Somewhere along the way, the question I had thought was so carefully crafted and planned on asking suddenly to capitalize on surprise seemed not only awkward, but one that would put Corvinus in a bad position. Consequently, I just asked, "Why?"
"Why what?" he replied, one eyebrow raised, then he apparently decided to take pity on me, because instead of forcing me to articulate the reason, he continued, "Why does a new Optio who'd normally go into one of the junior Cohorts be assigned to the First of the First instead?"
"Yes, that," I mumbled.
Corvinus shrugged, looking down at the stylus he was spinning about in one hand, something unusual in itself; he was the type of man who usually looked others in the eye, no matter the circumstances.
"Maybe," he broke the short silence, "Appius Asinius' record and reputation is so exemplary that our Primus Pilus saw he was the most qualified."
That, as I fully knew, was certainly the case, at least as far as it went. Appius Asinius was my first Sergeant, but more than anything, he was still one of the men who molded me into the Legionary I was then, and even more so, am now. Unlike the other men in the First Section in the Fourth, he had not participated in any of the normal games veterans play with tiros, although he never stopped the others from having their fun. Frankly, I am glad that he did not; as I learned very quickly, I was already working at a disadvantage with some men, simply because of to whom I was related. Not so much my father, who had been many of my comrades' Pilus Prior when they were tiros, but my Avus. As I had come to discover, having a legend as your grandfather creates a set of expectations, along with some biases and belief by some men that the accolades and praise I had received in my short time under the standard were a result of who I was related to, not what I had done. Sitting there with Corvinus, these thoughts were going through my mind, and I felt a slight sense of, if not shame, then discomfort that I had not simply accepted that Appius Asinius was the best man for the job of Optio of the First of the First. Corvinus seemed occupied with performing his trick with his stylus, spinning it about rapidly as it moved, seemingly on its own, across his fingers then back again towards his thumb. Taking that as my sign to leave, I stood up, and was about to thank him for his time and apologize for imposing on him while he was involved in such weighty matters, when his mouth opened.
"Of course," he said casually, still looking down at the stylus, "there might be more to it than that."
Which, naturally, made me sit back down, leaning forward as I studied his face. But Gnaeus Corvinus had a well-earned reputation as a gambler, and part of his success came from the fact that one could never determine his emotions or thoughts by his facial expressions.
"Maybe," he continued, "Asinius being put in the First of the First is part of a deal I made with our Primus Pilus."
Rather than enlightening me, I was more puzzled and asked him, "Deal? What kind of deal would you make with…?" That was when a horrible thought came to mind, my heart suddenly squeezed by the dread I felt as I gasped, "You're not going to start working for him, are you?"
It was not until later that I felt any sense of achievement that I had not only clearly surprised my former Pilus Prior, it was enough of a shock that his stylus suddenly went spinning off his fingers to go skittering across his desk as he stared at me with an open mouth.
"What?" he gasped, then a dark flush spread over his features, which I knew was a sign of his anger. "You think I'd make a deal like that with…him? You really don't know me that well?"
I held my hands up in a placating gesture, the words tumbling out as I tried to assure him, "That's why I was so shocked! No! I know you wouldn't! It's just…" My voice trailed off, hoping that was enough to assuage him.
He still looked disturbed, but he nodded, sending a surge of relief through me.
"No." He shook his head, although his expression was still sour. "That's not the deal I made. But, it's…related to his other activities." He paused, as if he was considering something, then he asked me, "Did you notice anything…unusual about those Colapiani bastards we fought last night?"
"A lot of them were wearing Roman armor," I replied, instantly understanding the question; it had been much on my mind since Domitius and I first noticed it.
"Yes," he agreed. "And, how do you think that happened?"
Frankly, I had no idea; despite thinking about it, I had not come up with anything that I thought was remotely likely. Now, because of the subject we were discussing, I felt a knot in my stomach that appeared so suddenly and was so strong the gasp wrenched from me was as much about the stab of pain in my gut as it was surprise.
"Are you saying that Urso has been supplying the Colapiani?"
"No." He shook his head. "Not supplying. Selling to them."
"But," joining along with my stomach, my head began to ache as I struggled to make sense, "how? And, why?"
"How? What happens to those hamata that the immunes have been exchanging for the segmentata over the last three years?"
The truth was that it had never occurred to me to ask, but as I considered it, I replied, "I thought that they were just melted down to use for the segmentata."
"So did I," Corvinus admitted. "But then, I got a visit from someone. Someone you know, actually. You remember Lucius Manius?"
Indeed I did; he was an armorer Immune who had tried to gouge me when I needed a plate of my segmentata replaced, which had to be specially forged because of my larger size, back when I had been wounded the year before. But then Asinius had informed Manius of my identity, prompting the grizzled old bastard to refuse taking my money. As Asinius explained later, my father had managed to save Manius from retaliation from the brother of a man whose woman Manius had stolen. During the ensuing fight over the woman, Manius had not only defeated his rival for her affections, he had gelded the man in the process, forcing him to be cashiered from the Legion. Manius was marching in the Fourth at the time, and my father arranged for his transfer to serve as part of the contingent of Immunes that are permanently attached to the Quaestorium instead of the Legion. And, although this had happened before my time under the standard, it still had a direct impact on me because the brother of the gelded man turned out to be Gaius Maxentius. Maxentius had been making my life a misery from the day I showed up, yet I had no idea why he hated me so much until I learned the story. And since my father was retired, living in Arelate, I suppose Maxentius thought the next best thing was to torment me. Things, however, did not quite work out the way I am sure he intended.
"Well, Manius' conscience started bothering him," Corvinus explained, "except he was on Urso's payroll, so he kept quiet about it."
"But wait," I interjected. "I saw a couple hundred hamata, and probably as many helmets. And if they didn't get melted down, surely the fact we're still requisitioning so many iron sows would come to someone's attention, if not with the Legate's staff, then back in Rome once the reports are tallied."
Corvinus seemed pleased, and he replied, "See, I knew there was a brain in there somewhere! But," he leaned his elbows on his desk, shaking his head in what seemed to be grudging admiration, "our Primus Pilus isn't stupid either. In fact, I have to say that he's quite brilliant in a lot of ways. It's just too bad that he's as crooked as a warped vitus." He paused for a moment, then posed a question. "Do you happen to know one of the sources of Colapiani wealth?"
"Iron ore," I answered, instantly making the connection, then as I thought about it, one problem occurred to me. "But the iron still has to be extracted from it. I didn't think they could do that on their own."
"Neither did I," Corvinus admitted. "And, apparently, a few years ago, they couldn't. But being exposed to us has paid off for them, at least in that way. I don't know any more than that, other than Manius assured me they can produce refined iron that's of acceptable quality."
"So they're just trading Urso iron for the armor?" I asked, still puzzled.
"Of course not." Corvinus laughed. "He's trading them armor for iron…and gold."
That, I realized, explained why Draxo handed over a bag of gold coins that day, which had baffled me at the time, considering we were also dragging off some of their young men to join the auxiliaries, or at least had planned on it before we were assailed by a barrage of rocks. At the time, it seemed a bit much to think the Colapiani chieftain would be paying our Primus Pilus for the "privilege" of losing men who could become warriors under his command rather than for Rome. This information, I quickly realized, explained things.
"Anyway, Manius had been in on it, but then when word came about the Colapiani rising up, he felt too guilty at the thought that all that armor was going to be protecting men who were going to be trying to kill us."
While I found this all very enlightening, I still had more questions than answers, like how the mail shirts and helmets were transferred to the Colapiani; we had not carried anything with us when we went to meet Draxo. However, that was not the most pressing issue on my mind.
"That still doesn't explain how Asinius is my new Optio," I told Corvinus.
"No, but it will explain why he is," Corvinus countered. "Because I approached the Primus Pilus with what I knew, but made it clear that my silence could be assured, provided a couple of conditions were met."
That, I thought, was a very dangerous game to play with a man like Urso, yet I also recognized that, if anyone could take care of himself, it was my former Pilus Prior. However, I was still not satisfied about one thing.
"Actually, that doesn't really explain why," I pointed out. "That's more 'how' it happened."
For the first time, Corvinus looked acutely uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as he broke his gaze away.
Finally, he said, "I made a promise," then fell silent again.
"A promise?" I shook my head; this was making no sense. "I know that. You promised Urso to remain silent."
"Not to him," Corvinus replied immediately. "To someone else."
I think that was when it started to make sense, and I leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath as my mind raced, although I felt certain I had my answer.
"My father," I finally managed.