Nobody Loves a Centurion(78)

“I have perfect confidence in you, master,” he said, a remark open to more than one interpretation.

Daylight came, but not clarity of view. We were walking in white fog instead of dark fog. I thought I could determine the direction of the rising sun, but I may have been fooling myself in this. I betrayed no doubts to Hermes, though.

“Halt!” the command came out of the gloom with such authority that both of us were struck as by a thunderbolt. “Who’s out there?”

“I am Captain of Praetorian Cavalry Decius Caecilius Metellus, accompanied by one slave. I must report to the legatus at once.”

“What’s the watchword, Captain?”

“Watchword? How would I know? I haven’t attended a staff conference in seven days! Let us through—I have urgent business!”

“Sorry, Captain. I can’t let you pass without the watch-word. You’ll have to wait until the officer of the watch gets here.”

“I cannot believe this!” I shouted, all but tearing out my hair by the roots. “At least let me know where you are!”

“Oh, I guess that’s all right. Just keep coming the way you were for a few steps.” I did as he instructed and then I saw the great rampart in front of me. Just over its palisade I could make out the shapes of two helmets, close together. The fog was lifting rapidly now.

“Can’t you see that I am a Roman officer?” I demanded.

“Well, you talk like one. What you look like is a beggar.”

I could imagine how he would think so. My tunic was ragged and filthy, I was equally filthy as well as unshaven, with my hair sticking out like a Gaul’s. Then I heard somebody else clumping along the wooden walk and I saw a helmet with the transverse crest of a centurion.

“What’s all this commotion, Galerius?”

“There’s someone out there who says he’s a Roman officer, though he doesn’t look it. Got a slave with him.”

“Somebody said something about a missing officer.” The centurion peered over the palisade. “Let’s hear your story.”

“I was on a night reconnaissance and was captured by the Germans. We escaped yesterday and have been wandering in the fog all night.” The shorter the better, I decided.

“Well, at least you sound all right.” He pointed east, toward the lake. “There’s a gate right down there about a quarter of a mile. Go on and I’ll see they let you in.”

We hurried down to the narrow sally port and a group of extremely puzzled men let me through at the centurion’s orders. I was so agitated and frustrated that only now did I notice that I was looking at legionaries, not auxilia.

“When did legionaries take over guarding the rampart?” I said. They just stared and then I noticed the stars painted on their shields. “What legion are you?”

“The Seventh!” said one, proudly.

I whooped and hugged Hermes, much to his embarrassment. “Our reinforcements! When did you get here?”

“Late yesterday evening,” said a decurion. “Caesar came riding in when we were camped just the other side of the Alps. He didn’t march us here; he made us run here!”

“Six men dropped dead from exhaustion in the mountains,” another said, nodding and grinning, as if this was a great distinction. “Caesar had his lictors marching in the rear, with orders to behead any that fell out.”

“Caesar truly believes in having his orders obeyed,” the decurion said with considerable awe. It was as if they were talking about a god, except that they spoke with affection. I could not believe it. Lucullus had tried to enforce stiff discipline in his army and the soldiers had rebelled. Caesar demanded inhuman discipline and they worshipped him for it. I will never understand soldiers.

As Hermes and I walked toward the camp of the Tenth, the rest of the fog cleared off and we saw the most heartening sight in the world: Where there had been only the solitary camp of the legion and its auxilia, there were now three full legionary camps and three auxilia camps, and since these had been newly raised for this campaign they were at full strength; something in excess of thirty-six thousand men.

“There’s enough soldiers here to conquer the world!” Hermes said.

“I’m sure Caesar would like to do just that,” I told him, “but we’ve marched ten legions at a time against an enemy and still had a hard fight of it. Still, this army should be able to take on the Helvetii handily.”

“And the Germans?”

“Caesar won’t take on both at once. Ariovistus may have been exaggerating his numbers, but he may have three times as many men as Caesar.”