Nobody Loves a Centurion(24)

“Aulus Vehilius,” he said, introducing himself, “optio of the First Cohort and tonight’s relief commander.” So this was Vinius’s right-hand man, the one who carried his spare vine-staffs.

“Decius Caecilius Metellus, Captain of the praetorian ala and officer of the watch.”

“Who are these?” Vehilius said, nodding his crest toward the men standing behind me.

“My troop of the praetorian ala.”

“Auxilia have no place on the camp wall. That’s for legionaries only.”

“Consider them my personal bodyguard. I fear assassination by political rivals.”

He looked at me as if I were insane, an entirely understandable attitude on his part, then snapped: “We are wasting time. Guard Relief, march!” He spun on his hobnailed heel and strode off. The relief stepped out smartly, with a fine, martial clatter. I saw that some of them were grinning at the options discomfiture.

I walked up alongside Vehilius, who sternly ignored me. Behind me, Lovernius and the others ambled along in far less formal order. After all, not only were they Gauls, they were cavalrymen, and could not have marched in step to save themselves from crucifixion.

At the top of the wall, starting from the Porta Praetoria, Vehilius began relieving the sentries. As we reached each sentry post the challenge was given and the watchword rendered, then the optio received the report of the senior man, after which the two men at the front of our line took the places of the two on watch. The relieved men then fell in at the rear of the line.

So it proceeded until we reached the north wall. The noise and missile-hurling had stopped, to my great satisfaction. I decided the Gauls must be getting tired, too. Besides, they had to be well away before daylight when we would be after them again with the cavalry.

When we reached the post where Burrus and Quadratus stood, we went through the usual challenge-and-watchword business and Quadratus reported on the night’s activities. Then Vehilius ordered the column to march on.

“A moment, Optio!” I said.

He paused. “Yes, Captain?”

“Aren’t we going to relieve these men?” I demanded.

“No, we are not. These two, and the men of the next three posts, belong to the sixth contubernium of the First Century, First Cohort. They are to stand watch all night as punishment.”

“I see. I presume that is for this night alone?”

“They stand all-night watches until the First Spear instructs otherwise.”

“And does that not endanger the security of the whole camp?”

“That is not for me to judge. And now, Captain, if it is all right with you, and even if it buggering well isn’t, I am going to continue with my duties.”

“Don’t let me keep you, Optio. Good evening to you.”

Stiff as a spearshaft, he whirled and clumped off, followed by soldiers whose broad grins vanished when he turned to glare at them.

When he was gone, Lovernius made a very Gallic gesture. “Captain, I have always heard how adept you Roman politicians are at making friends. Could I have been misinformed?”

“There is going to be great trouble over this!” said Indiumix delightedly. Gauls just love trouble.

“Patron, what are you up to?” Burrus asked.

“Burrus, Quadratus, you are relieved. These two men,” I pointed at two of my Gauls, “will take your place. Stay here on the wall, but I want you to get some sleep.”

“But they aren’t legionaries!” Quadratus protested.

“I take the responsibility upon my own head,” I assured them. “I am officer of the watch, and I am ordering you two to get some sleep. You’d better do it now, because I won’t have this duty for another three or four nights.”

Soldiers have a remarkable ability to sleep anywhere, under any circumstances. They laid their shields carefully atop the earthen wall, then lay down and pillowed their heads on them. In full armor, belted with sword and dagger and cuddling their spears, they were out like a pair of extinguished lamps.

We proceeded to the next three sentry posts and relieved the remaining six men of the contubernium in the same unorthodox fashion. Then Lovernius and I leaned against the palisade and contemplated the now quiet night. Springtime insects were making noise out there, and an occasional owl hooted.

“Five sesterces says he’ll come after me before sunrise,” I hazarded.

“Ten says he’ll wait and denounce you in front of Caesar and the whole staff in the morning.”

“Done.” We clasped hands on it and Lovernius smiled, shaking his head admiringly. Gauls have an entirely inexplicable admiration for reckless, suicidal fools. As it turned out, he won the ten sesterces.