Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (31 page)

“Is that you Pullus?” he asked, his surprise obvious.

“Yes Pilus Prior, and you’re welcome.” I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly was not what came out of his mouth.

“Welcome, am I? We’ll see how welcome I am once I’ve striped your back you
cunnus
. I seem to remember telling you specifically to remain at your post.”

“But…” I was cut off before I could finish my protest.

“But nothing. Those were your orders and you disobeyed them. Your ass is mine.” Without another word, he turned back to face another Lusitani, parrying a blow as easily as if he were waving his
vitus
around. I was stunned, but I was also angry, so I turned it on the Lusitani. With another roar, I waded into a small knot of men engaged in a desperate struggle, knocking both Lusitani and Roman aside to begin thrusting, hacking, and swinging my sword about, barely registering when I scored any kind of hit except by the shouts or screams of men I wounded or killed. Disdaining the use of my shield for any kind of defense, instead I began swinging it about, smashing into both friend and foe that stood in my way. I felt myself giving way to the anger and rage I felt inside, that instead of gratitude I faced a flogging from the Pilus Prior for saving his life. It also angered me that these men were trying to kill me, that men like Didius could shirk their duties of defending Rome, it angered me that Juno picked Vibius over me, that Vibius beat me at dice just the night before, and it angered me that my father hated me because in my birth I had killed the only thing he ever loved. In that moment, I felt the rage surge through me, washing over me in a warm flood, giving me more energy than I had ever experienced in my life. Feeling the blood spattering my face, instead of my normal revulsion, I reveled in it, loving the warm sticky fluid as it started to dry on my skin. Becoming dimly aware that the roars of triumph coming from the Lusitani were turning into cries of alarm, it only fueled me to keep killing and maiming. It was in that moment that I knew I had found my purpose in life; I was a killer, a machine, and there was nothing that could stand in my way and live if I did not wish it to be so.

My next conscious memory is standing alone, panting, my legs trembling and feeling the fatigue so greatly that I could not lift my arms, even if it meant my life to do so. I also became gradually aware that the noise of battle was gone; not totally, but certainly the furious sounds of frantic combat had disappeared. The wider world around me slowly came into focus, and it surprised me when I noticed that I seemed to be standing by myself, so I peered around in the dark until I saw several Roman helmets profiled against a lightening sky. It appeared that all heads were turned towards me as I continued my return by noting that the ground around me seemed to be piled much higher with bodies than anywhere else. With my breathing slowing, I felt a slight surge of energy coming back, so I began to move towards my original position on the wall, and was annoyed to find that I had to lift my leg like I was climbing a low fence, except this one was made of flesh and bone, some of which was still moving and emitting low moans. I was unbelievably weary, to the point that all I wanted to do was to sit down somewhere and rest, especially once the memory of the words I had exchanged with the Pilus Prior came back to me. If I was going to be flogged, I wanted to be as fresh as I could get. By this point, the fighting had almost completely ceased; I heard the clash of metal on metal and shouts over where the diversion started, except there was none of the urgency in the voices of the section leaders and the men in that spot. Very quickly I was surrounded by my comrades, two of them stepping aside to let me through without saying a word, for which I was thankful, because I was barely able to move; adding talking to the burden I felt sure would cause me to collapse. Steering myself in the direction of where my gear was lying on the ground just behind where I had been posted on the wall, I focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. A slight breeze blew except instead of being refreshed I felt clammy and was surprised to realize that every part of my body where open skin showed was wet, and as the breeze did its work to dry the moisture, I could feel my skin tighten as whatever covered me cooled. It must be blood, I thought. That did not stop me from finding my gear, feeling in the dark to count from the end of the pile to where mine would be, before collapsing more than sitting down. Not even bothering to shed my armor, I laid down my shield then arranged my sword so it was not in the way, removed my helmet and fell backwards, asleep before my head hit the ground. The fact that I was violating all sorts of regulations and had not been given leave to rest did not even cross my mind.

I was awakened by a kick to my feet, opening my eyes to a blinding sun shining right in my eyes. Jerking alert, I sat up immediately, trying to clear my head a bit as I strained to see who it was standing above me, outlined like a god coming down from the heavens with the sun behind him. It was no god, just the Optio, and his face was expressionless when he spoke.

“Get up, Pullus. The Pilus Prior wants to see you now.”

Groaning, partly from the soreness I felt as I got up but more because of the dread of facing Pilus Prior Crastinus’ wrath, I got to my feet, swaying a little, and the Optio put out a quick hand to steady me.

“Easy Pullus. Well," he shook his head after looking me up and down, "you’re quite a sight but it’ll have to do. You all right now?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and led me to where the Pilus Prior was standing with the section leaders. I estimated that it was at least two parts of a watch past sunrise, and I was surprised that I was not roused earlier. All of the carnage from the night before was now clear to see, causing my step to falter as I looked around at the mangled bodies and the huge dark spots on the ground where men's lifeblood had left their body to return to the earth. Work parties were carrying corpses and throwing them into a pile of enemy dead, but I was more concerned with the bodies wearing our uniform and I looked around for a spot where they might be laid. Surveying the surroundings, I saw there was one spot with a concentration of bodies much higher than what was strewn around the rest of our makeshift walls, identifiable as well by the fact that they were on the inside of the dirt barrier. I was almost to the Pilus Prior when I frowned; while everyone was still wearing their gear, and there were Legionaries on the wall facing where the Lusitani camp was, there were still a significant number of men who were busy with other tasks. From where I was, I could not see over the wall to their camp to see what the Lusitani were doing, and I was unable to pay any more attention because I was now standing in front of the Pilus Prior.

Coming to
intente
, I saluted in my best parade ground fashion and barked out, “
Gregarius
Titus Pullus reporting as ordered, sir.”

Crastinus continued directing the section leaders as I stood there. He was clearly ignoring me, only fueling my sense of anxiety, and I tried not to fidget as I waited for him to turn his attention to me. Once finished with them, the section leaders dispersed, among them Calienus, who was sporting a bandage on his upper arm and a slash along his jaw. Meeting my eyes as he passed me, he did not say anything; the shake of his head was eloquent enough. Once they were away I continued standing there, trying to tell myself that the shaking in my legs was because I was still tired, but Crastinus continued to ignore me, barking out orders to some of the nearby Legionaries. Finally, after what seemed like a third of a watch but was probably no more than a hundred heartbeats, he turned his full attention to me, looking me up and down, his face expressionless, the invisible man with the turd again taking the day off. Staring at a spot above him, out of the corner of my eye I could see the fatigue in his face, the lines etched by the countless days of weather and sun even deeper now than before, with the rings under his eyes making it look like he had been punched in the face. It was the first time I saw Gaius Crastinus as just a man, like me and the rest of my comrades, and not some demigod sent by Mars to torment young Legionaries. When he spoke, it was not in his command voice, but with a tone I had never heard from him before, even the one night when we were sworn in.

“You know if I were to abide by the regulations, I should have you scourged at the very least, and scourged and crucified at the very worst.”

My jaw clenched as the fear caused by his words struck deep into my heart. Besides the pain, the shame and humiliation would be unbearable, and I was already regretting my rashness. Then, a miracle happened.

“But,” my heart did another skip, “it wouldn't be very gracious to kill a man who saved my life. Besides,” he continued, “it wouldn't help morale, seeing as how you also probably saved the lives of the rest of the Century, not to mention the Second’s as well.”

Shaking his head, he tried to suppress a smile; his words had already unburdened my soul and I could feel my chest beginning to swell with pride.

“What you did last night, boy, was one of the stupidest things I've seen in all my years under the standards, but it was also the bravest. I told you once that I thought you might have a future in the Legions, and last night didn't change my mind.”

Fighting the urge to smile, that urge was blown away like smoke in a strong breeze with his next words. Stepping close to whisper in my ear so only I could hear, there was no mistaking his tone, even at a whisper.

“But if you ever disobey me again, I don’t care how decorated or famous you are, I'll gut you myself, and I'll make it look like you were killed in battle and nobody will ever know. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.”

It seemed crystal clear to me that this was the only answer I could give, especially since I held no doubt whatsoever that he was completely serious, and capable of doing what he promised. I could handle myself and more with the barbarian tribes, but I harbored no illusions how long I would last with a man like Crastinus. Just as quickly, he switched back to a human being and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Good. And we'll speak no more about it. I know I won’t have to.”

Making my way back to my section’s gear, I passed the area where the bodies of our dead were laid out, and I am somewhat ashamed to record the relief that I felt when I saw faces I recognized, but none from my own Century. There were nine men on the ground, and as I moved on, I saw an even larger group, all of them in varying degrees of distress from their wounds. One man was moaning while the
medici
who was assigned to us did what he could to make him as comfortable as one can be when the only thing keeping one’s guts inside their body is a linen bandage. It will be ten dead at least, I thought as I walked past, then I spotted Romulus sitting on the ground, a bandage on his head obscuring one eye. It struck me with dread at the thought that he might be maimed and unable to continue in the Legions, except I was too timid to ask him, so I decided I would ask Remus when I saw him since he would undoubtedly know. I found my tentmates seated by their gear eating their morning meal. Vibius, looking up and seeing me, smiled and rose to his feet, then the others saw me, whereupon they too stood. I slowed as I got near; this was not how I was usually greeted.

Vibius stepped forward and ignoring the gore that was still caked on me and my gear, embraced me, and whispered, “You crazy bastard. If the Lusitani hadn’t killed you, I swore I was going to for scaring me so badly. But now when I see you I’m just happy that you’re still alive.”

“Me too.”

There was nothing more said before the rest of my comrades were on me, pounding me on the back and congratulating me. Only two men hung back; Didius, which did not surprise me, but Calienus was the other, which did, and I was mystified by the reception.

“Everyone in the Century is talking about it,” Scribonius explained. “You single-handedly saved both Centuries last night. Those bastards had broken through and it was you who stopped them and saved all of us.”

I did not know what to say, but in truth, I was not of a mind to dispute what was said. When you are young and dream of glory, how hard are you going to argue when such honors are laid at your feet?

The Lusitani had withdrawn; they approached under a flag of truce while I was asleep early in the morning asking to retrieve their wounded, which the Pilus Prior granted. They left behind almost 300 dead, out of an original force estimated to be between 500 and 600 strong. My tentmates claimed that there were less than a hundred unscathed, the rest being wounded to various degrees. Our butcher’s bill ended up with ten dead, twelve wounded that would return at some point to full duty, and another nine whose wounds were disabling to the point where they would be put out of the Legion on permanent disability. Added to that were the four men we lost when we moved to the hill. It did not matter whether they were killed outright, or had been too seriously wounded like the man who grabbed at Calienus’ ankle; once they fell they were dead men. I was just happy that Romulus was not one of those too badly wounded to continue under the standard, sustaining a serious wound just above his eye, while the eye itself was spared. The scar he carried gave him the look of a pirate or brigand of some sort, except much to our surprise and chagrin, we discovered that it seemed to be a point of attraction to the ladies, who would coo and flutter about him, asking him how he got it. It was not long before some of us were hoping that we could someday be mutilated in the face to enable us to become the object of the same kind of attention. Even as the Lusitani were finishing up the gathering of their wounded and making preparations to retreat, a column of dust started drifting towards us, the sign that Crastinus had been correct; help was indeed on the way. While we waited for the relief column to arrive, the Pilus Prior sent small groups of men out foraging for wood to build funeral pyres, and some sort of animal, preferably a white goat or sheep, to sacrifice during the funeral rites. Although the latter group came back empty handed, it turned out that it did not matter. As usual, Caesar thought of everything so that when he dispatched the column in relief, he sent along the proper animals for sacrifice, knowing that we would have had casualties. It was also a subtle message to all of us that said he knew the only reason we could possibly be delayed was because we were locked in desperate battle. The remaining men were detailed to dig a pit to throw the bodies of the Lusitani in, with a small number of men standing guard. Between the beating we had just given them, and the sight of the column, Crastinus was convinced that the Lusitani would not do anything foolish and just be content instead to limp off with their tail between their legs. I was exempted from duties as a reward for my antics the night before, yet after a few moments, I could not watch my friends digging without getting up to help, so I pitched in. It also helped pass the time, and gave us a chance to recount the events of the day before. In between shovelfuls, Atilius gave a running commentary on everything that happened as he saw it, with the others adding in their own obol’s worth.