Nobody Loves a Centurion(22)

“Why did Caesar want him in particular?”

“You don’t make the first order without being good at your job,” Quadratus opined. “He’s a good soldier, at least on the march and in camp. We haven’t seen him in battle yet.”

“And,” Burrus added, “he has a set of phalerae that he wears for ceremonial parades. They don’t award those for good behavior.”

Phalerae are massive, circular medallions worn mounted on a strap harness and worn over the armor. They are decorations awarded for extraordinary valor, so awe-inspiring that men who won them actually wore them into battle, although they were nothing but an encumbrance and extra weight.

Something whizzed past my head and I brushed at my ear, thinking it was some night-flying insect. Both sentries swung around to face the outer darkness and raised their shields to just below eye level. They did this so perfunctorily, seeming bored by yet another military chore, that at first its significance escaped me.

“That was an arrow, Patron,” Burrus informed me. “You’d best duck below the palisade or get behind us, seeing as you’re not carrying a shield.” Even as he said it I heard an arrow thunk solidly into the chest-high wood of the palisade. From the gloom outside the camp came the sound of Gauls hooting and shouting.

I edged behind them. “I’m going to have a few words with Carbo,” I said. “He was supposed to stop this sort of thing.” I was appalled at how badly my military instincts had eroded. In a Roman alley I could sense danger coming from any direction. Here, it seemed I was as helpless as a tribune on his first day of service.

“Not much chance of that,” Quadratus said. “These Gauls get around in the dark like bats.” A slingstone smacked off the hide-sheathed wood of his shield with a crack that rang in my ears.

“Shouldn’t we raise the alarm?” I asked, embarrassed that I, an officer, had to solicit advice from a couple of common legionaries.

“It will have to get a lot worse than this,” Burrus told me. “We don’t wake the whole camp for a few arrows and stones. The barbarians aren’t even very close, or we’d have been catching javelins by now.”

“It’s what the Gauls want, you see,” Quadratus added. “It’s to keep us on edge and wakeful. The less sleep we get, the worse shape we’ll be in on the day we fight them in force, in the open.” Another stone clanged loudly off the bronze-sheathed rim of his shield. He felt for damage. “Damn! Put a dent in it. No, Captain, we only raise the alarm if they make an assault on the camp, and they can’t get past the rampart in big enough numbers for that, so it’s just this petty harassment every night.”

“At least it’s every third night for you two,” I said.

“Don’t we wish,” Burrus said. “Vinius said he found leather mold on our tent this morning. We stand sentry every night until he tells us otherwise.”

“After a full duty day?” A stone hurtled over my head, making a sound like a large bee hurrying to a distant flower. “I’ll speak to Caesar about this.”

“Don’t bother,” Burrus advised. “He’ll just back his First Spear and you’ll only annoy both of them.”

“He’s right, sir,” Quadratus affirmed. “Vinius can deal with just about any staff officer he doesn’t like. You’d best stay out of it.”

“We’ll see. I have to finish my rounds. I’ll see you men again before daylight.”

“Bring your shield next time, Patron,” Burrus said, chuckling. How a man in his position could see humor in anything was mystifying, but I was impressed enough to overlook his little insolence.

An officer is never supposed to show fear before the ranks, so I waited until I was out of their sight before I ducked under the protection of the palisade and made my way to the next sentry post in a ludicrous, bent-kneed crouch. I straightened again only when I came in sight of the next pair and resumed my fearless swagger.

All along the north wall the sentries were answering the Gauls’ windy war cries and challenges with the many rude noises of which Italians are the world’s masters. Darkness and their equipment deprived them of the eloquent gestures that everyone born south of the Po considers to be a part of the national arsenal.

It was with great relief that I concluded my inspection of the north wall and worked my way down the west wall, where enemy action was far less intense, and then to the south wall where all was quiet once more. At the main gate I descended into the camp and walked up the Via Praetoria to its intersection with the Via Principalis where the main watchfire burned. It was there that the guard relief gathered and there that I found a slave tending the water clock that timed the reliefs.