Give Me Back My Legions(87)

His hobnailed marching sandals stopped clunking and started thumping: dirt underfoot, not planks. “Germany,” the legionary beside him said. “Again.”

Both men’s eyes darted now left, now right. Neither was foolish enough to turn his head and risk drawing the tribune’s notice. Caldus Caelius took an extra long stride to avoid a horse turd in his path. The governor and the cavalry had gone on ahead of the legionaries . . . and left souvenirs for the unwary.

A couple of ranks behind Caelius, somebody swore sulfurously. The tribune barked at him. “What’s that all about?” whispered the man to Caelius’ left.

“He must’ve stepped in the shit,” Caelius whispered back. “I saw it coming, so I missed it. He must not have.”

“Is that why you hopped? I thought something went and bit you,” the other legionary said.

“Not yet. Give it another month,” Caelius answered.

The other man grunted. Quinctilius Varus had started them for Mindenum early. The trees that shed their leaves were just beginning to get them back. Germany seemed to have fewer mosquitoes than Italy did. But it had more midges and gnats and biting flies. When spring was a little further along, they would rise from the swamps and marshes in buzzing myriads. Spring brought forth all kinds of life, including the unwelcome.

Thinking about the unwelcome naturally made Caldus Caelius think about Germans. “Wonder if the governor’s tame barbarian’ll come round again,” he murmured.

“Huh!” the other legionary said - a book’s worth of commentary packed into what wasn’t even a word. All the same, the soldier went and amplified it: “Did you ever see a German who was really tame?”

“There’s the one who keeps coming to tell the governor what a rotter the other savage is,” Caelius said. “If he’s tame, the other fellow isn’t. And if he isn’t, the other bugger is.”

“Or maybe neither one of ‘em is,” the other Roman replied. “I say they’re both stinking barbarians, and I say to the crows with ‘em.”

“That you running your mouth, Caelius?” The tribune rasped like a saw blade hacking through marble.

“No, sir.” Caldus Caelius lied without compunction or hesitation.

“Well, somebody cursed well is.” The military tribune was half mollified, but only half. “Whoever it is, he’d better shut up if he knows what’s good for him.”

Caelius didn’t respond to that. If he had, the centurion would have suspected he had a guilty conscience. He did, but he also had the sense not to put it on display.

The legionaries plunged into the woods. If you wanted to go any-where in Germany, you had to go through the forest or through mud or, more likely, through both. Because so many of the trees were pines and spruces and yews, the air took on a faint spicy scent. That odor was almost the only thing about the woods Caelius liked.

He had a javelin in his right hand. He also unobtrusively made sure his gladius was loose in its sheath. He didn’t think the Germans would try to ambush the legionaries so close to Vetera, but you never knew. They might try an ambush here just because they guessed the Romans wouldn’t expect it.

Several soldiers in front of him were checking their weapons, too. After you’d gone into Germany a few times, you realized every tree had eyes and every bush had ears. Legionaries who took stupid chances usually regretted it - but not for long.

A raven high up in a spruce croaked gutturally. “Hear that?” the man next to Caelius said. “It’s going, ‘Feed me. Feed me.’ “

“We aren’t supposed to do so much fighting now,” Caelius said. “This is supposed to be a working province.”

“Now tell me one I’ll believe,” the other Roman said. “So this is a province like Gaul, say? Then I can walk around wherever I please in a tunic, and maybe a cloak if it’s chilly outside? I don’t need any armor?” He shrugged to make his chainmail jingle. “I don’t need any weapons?” Like Caelius, he carried javelins and thrusting shortsword, as well as a leather-faced wooden shield with an iron boss in the center and bronze edging.

Caldus Caelius had to laugh. “I said it was supposed to be that kind of province. I didn’t say it was yet.”

“Good thing, too. Only place in Germany where I can walk around in my tunic and not worry about getting scragged is inside the rampart at Mindenum. Oh, yeah, and I guess in Aliso and the other riverside forts, too.”

“Silence in the ranks!” the tribune bellowed again. “Caelius, this time I know it was you! Didn’t making centurion give you any extra sense?”