“You think they’ll try today?” Scribonius and I were standing on the parapet, gazing out at the array before us, the Treveri beginning their pre-battle rituals.
Nodding at what they were doing, I replied, “Looks like it.” I turned and grinned at Scribonius. “At least we won’t be bored, neh?”
He laughed and nodded at that. Similar conversations were taking place up and down the walls, as we quietly waited for the Treveri to get down to business.
“When do you suppose Labienus will let the cavalry out?” Vibius wondered.
I shrugged; nothing had trickled down to our level that might give us a good indication one way or another. Despite our dislike of Labienus we did respect his fighting ability and I said as much, reminding my comrades that we could be sure that it would be at the best possible moment. Finally we were relieved off the wall, retiring to our tents for a meal and some sleep when we were told of Labienus’ intentions. The Pilus Prior came by, tapping his vitus against his leg as he relayed what he knew.
“After it gets dark, we’re to form up in battle order at the PortaDecumana,” he told us. “We’re to prepare as quietly as possible, and move by Century to the gate. That’s when the cavalry will come out, and once we see those bastards relaxing like they did last night, we’re out of the gate quick as Pan.”
He motioned in the direction of the other Cohort areas.
“We’ll be part of five Cohorts that’s going out in support of the cavalry, and we’re going to be moving fast. We only have one goal, and that’s to find and kill that cunnus Indutiomarus. Labienus has offered a thousand sesterces reward for the man who brings back his head.”
This was naturally met with approval, and he left us to talk excitedly about who among us would be the man to take the prize. Within moments, Didius was taking odds, and the betting was spirited. We ate our meal then retired in a good mood at the prospect of action and a reward on top of it.
At the appointed time, we moved quietly into position by the rear gate, smelling our cavalry escort before we saw them, looming black shadows in the night, speaking quietly to each other in their own tongue. Seeing Vibius grin, his teeth showing faintly in the gloom, I smiled back. Normally, when such a situation arises where speed is of the essence, it is smart money to bet on the men riding horses, but for once we thanked Didius’ underhandedness. As hard as it was for me to understand, he did have friends in other Centuries, and not just in our Cohort. One of those friends was part of the guard Cohort that night, and had managed to be stationed in the tower next to the PortaDecumana. It was from this vantage point that he could look out and watch the movements of Indutiomarus; even in the night he was distinguishable by the large contingent of bodyguards who followed him. Once it got dark, some of them carried torches as he moved from one fire to the other, and it was in such a manner that our comrade in the tower could track him. He was ordered to give everyone the direction in which to head, but at the same time, claiming that there were a number of possibilities, give the cavalry one direction and his friend Didius the true direction where Indutiomarus actually was. Of course this was not given for free; Didius had to offer him 20 percent of the amount in case we won it, to which we grudgingly agreed, knowing that without that head start and tipoff, our chances were next to nothing. Knowing that the fix was in, it was all we could do to contain ourselves and keep from babbling to each other about it, though we just managed. The Gauls were ready, and we all strained to look upward at the tower, waiting for the signal. At the last moment, there was a bit of a commotion at the rear of the Gallic column, and it was only when I heard Atilius give a slight groan that I got an idea about the scope of the calamity. Whenever an officer is present, the mood in the air instantly changes among the rankers, and now that I had been in long enough to recognize that change, my heart sank. Nevertheless, I held out a small hope as I turned my head in the direction of the sound, then bit back a curse when I recognized the ruffled feather helmet that signaled the presence of Labienus himself. There was no way that our man in the tower could risk sending us in two different directions now, with Labienus on horseback riding with the Gauls, and we all knew it. Still, I thought, miracles can happen; maybe we would still be able to claim the prize.
There was no miracle; Indutiomarus was indeed caught as he tried to get back across the river, his head removed from his shoulders by a Gallic cavalryman, a particularly smelly, nasty brute who should have used part of his reward to buy new clothes since his were so filthy that burning them was the only right thing to do. Consequently, the coalition of tribes that Indutiomarus was trying to form instantly collapsed, and it was not a complete loss, especially for me. During our pursuit of Indutiomarus, we were trailing just behind the cavalry and came across what had to be the chief’s own marching camp. Our Gauls, or most of them anyway, were too hot on the heels of Indutiomarus to stop and properly loot the camp, yet we were under no such orders, so in the confusion we took the camp, killing everyone who had not fled before going through the wagons and tents of those we had just slain. I came across a small treasure trove, and even after splitting it with my tentmates, I had about 5,000 sesterces worth of gold and jewels. At that time this was almost six years’ pay, and given what I won in the years before, I now had more than enough to pay for the freedom of Gaia and Phocas a few times over, no matter how much my father wanted to force me to pay. I also decided that I would buy one thing for myself, something that many of the men were doing, and that was a Gallic sword. The Gauls were, and are today, the finest craftsmen of just about every type of metal, but their work with bladed weapons is unparalleled. Accordingly, a good sword, one of perhaps not the same quality that a Caesar would carry, but close to it, would cost me at least two years’ pay, yet I viewed it more as an investment in my life than an expense. It would prove to be one of the best and smartest things I ever bought, and I am looking at it hanging above my fireplace even now as I dictate. My first seven years in the Legion, I ruined a good dozen blades, and even had two snap on me, although fortunately it was not in combat but in using it to hack down small brush and the like. This Gallic blade would never once fail me, and although I did not know it, I had much more fighting to come.
While the death of Indutiomarus stopped the immediate threat that we faced, this winter proved to be no winter at all in the sense of our normal routine. Instead we were marched and counter-marched all over the country, as first one tribe then another began making noises about rebelling against Rome. The one event of any moment, at least for me, was my promotion to Optio of the First Century, Second Cohort of the 10th Legion. A Centurion in the Tenth Cohort had died and Rufio was promoted, which was expected since he was of the right seniority and qualifications. However, my promotion was a surprise to many people, myself included. By rights, Calienus should have been promoted, and I was more than a little apprehensive about the first time I faced him after my elevation, despite the fact that I outranked him. For a couple of days I tried to avoid him, then quickly realized it was pointless, since in the course of our duties we would have contact several times a day. Finally, I went to his hut, stood outside and drew a breath, about to ask permission to enter before I caught myself. I now outranked him, and I think more than anything that idea bothered me the most, because I looked up to Calienus like we all did and it was a hard adjustment to make. Still, I cleared my throat then made enough of a scuffle outside to let him know that I was coming in, and while I should not have been, I was still surprised when I found the hut empty. It was in the evening after our daily duties, and I instantly knew where he was, cursing myself for not thinking about it sooner. Calienus would be with Gisela; she lived in a small house behind the wineshop where she worked as a barmaid, a place called Pride of Bacchus or some such, a wineshop no better or worse than any of the other cesspits where soldiers on their off-duty time went to drink. These places, and the buildings where the people who ran and worked in them lived, always sprang up outside of a winter camp and the construction of them, if that was what it could be called, was so slipshod that there was always a considerable amount of wagering done about when the first one would fall down, which one it would be, and how many people would be killed. Because she was Calienus’ woman, Gisela had a much better constructed house than almost everyone else in the camp town, primarily because he helped build it and some of the Legion’s own building supplies went into the job. This was such widespread practice that I have to believe that it was like the unofficial marriages; our officers chose to turn a blind eye, as long as it was not too flagrant or egregious. Walking down the mud-churned street to the wineshop, I remember wishing that I had thought to stop and get something to drink somewhere else before talking to Calienus and was about to do that, except just then he emerged from Gisela’s house, walking to the door of the wineshop. He looked up and saw me, then stared at me for a moment, making my heart sink as I thought, he is angry with me. But then a smile crept across his face and instead of walking into the bar he turned to greet me with his hand outstretched.