“And I was always my father’s favorite. Besides, I told him that I was only working here to learn the habits of our enemy, and that one day that information would be put to good use. Then,” the laughter in her ceased, sadness descending once more, “this man named Calienus came into the shop. And he talked to me like no other man had ever talked to me.”
Despite myself, I leaned forward in order to glean any information that might help me win her heart. It is hard to describe the conflicting emotions that were running through me. Calienus’ ashes were barely cool, yet here I was, trying to find a way to win her for myself. Immediately another part of my mind answered, why not? Why not you, because you know that there will be men sniffing around her first thing tomorrow. You at least know her and treasure her for who she is, and not just because of how she looks. Or so I told myself anyway. Completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, she continued.
“He did not talk to me the way a man talks to a woman he wants to sleep with.”
To my horror, I could feel a flush creeping up my face at these words. She either ignored or did not see it.
“No, he talked to me as if I were an equal, a person whose opinion he valued, not just as some trophy that he could brag to his friends about.”
As she said this, I realized it was true. In fact, it was how we learned that Calienus had a woman, not because of what he said, but what he refused to talk about. And when someone, even in jest, spoke too lewdly about her Calienus would be all over them in an instant. This is good to remember, I thought to myself as I listened, although it puzzled me. There is nothing a man likes more than for his woman to brag about him to other women, yet apparently this is not so with women.
“So, he would come in, and we would just talk.”
“Talk about what?” I was intensely curious about this.
“Anything. Everything. The campaign,” I felt my eyebrows raise in surprise at this, “the political situation, poetry, music. Farming, even. Everything.”
She finished with a shrug, suddenly picking her cup up to drink deeply from it, leaving me to watch her throat moving up and down as she swallowed. I had never seen anything so lovely in my life, I was sure. Setting the cup down she caught me staring, and smiled self-consciously as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. It was the type of thing men do, yet it was both mannish and more feminine than anything I had ever seen before, and in that moment I saw past her beauty, realizing why Calienus loved her so much.
“He was a very lucky man,” I said quietly.
Now it was her turn to be surprised, at first, then her eyes started to fill again.
“You know Titus, he thought very highly of you,” she responded. “He told me once that you had the potential to be the finest Legionary in the army.”
I felt my chest swell with pride, and I could not help smiling.
“He also said that you had a huge ego, and if anything destroyed your chances, it would be that.”
Like a bucket of cold water thrown in the face of a drunk, her words dashed against me, whatever pride I felt instantly evaporating. I think it hurt more because I knew she was right; I was reaching a point in my life where I was able to look at myself as if through another’s eyes, and I could see that my vanity was perhaps my greatest flaw. Every soldier needs pride, along with the conviction that they are good at what they do, but there is a point at which there is too much of that quality and I was having trouble recognizing that point. I must have let it show that she wounded me, because she leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on my arm.
“Do not be hurt Titus. He wanted to see you succeed, and that was his one worry.”
I sat looking at her hand, how white and small it was, draped on my sun-dark, scarred forearm.
I sighed, and nodded. “I know. He was right. Sometimes I know that I go too far with my boasting, but I want to be the best Legionary that’s ever lived. It’s all I think about, day and night.”
While this was not exactly true, it was near enough, and I was surprised at myself that I was willing to utter something that I had told no one before, not even Vibius, at least since we joined the army. I looked down at the table, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“I know,” I whispered, “it’s stupid. It’s just the bragging of a boy.”
“Titus, there are a lot of things I think of when I think of you, but boy has never been one of them.”
Her words hit me like I had been struck by lightning. Did this mean that she viewed me as…….something else? I looked up to see her looking me square in the eye, and she gave my forearm a squeeze.
“There is nothing wrong with ambition, Titus. And it’s one of the things that makes you so……attractive.”
I gulped, hard. Her eyes never left mine, and I could feel the heat that started in my face sweep through my body. I felt myself leaning forward, just as a voice in my head shouted STOP!
Jerking my arm out from under her hand and standing quickly, I stammered, “Well, it was nice talking to you, Gisela.” Then a feeling of horror flashed through me and I tried to correct myself. “I mean…..it was nice, but under the circumstances, I mean, it was not nice. I……..” Being completely flummoxed, I finally burst out with, “I’m sorry for your loss, Gisela.”
She sat, just looking at me, and I could not tell whether she wanted to laugh, or cry. I got up, stumbling out into the night, heading back to the camp with my mind whirling.
The next morning, a formation was ordered for the entire army and we assembled in the forum to await Caesar. After settling down and being brought to intente, Caesar appeared from the command tent, mounting the rostra made of shields. He was dressed in his full armor, and his face was grim as he stood surveying us for several moments before he began speaking.
“Comrades,” he began, and we could tell by the sound of his voice that this was not going to be one of his talks that left us feeling like we could conquer the world, “I must tell you how disappointed I am in your conduct yesterday.”
His words struck the army like a massive fist, hitting us all in the gut. There was a stir in our ranks, with a low buzz of disbelief that he was including us in what happened; it was our actions that saved the rest of the army from destruction! I do not know if he was already planning what he said next, or he saw our reaction and moved quickly to disarm us. Regardless, he did so, turning towards us to hold out a placating hand.
“In my censure, I naturally do not include you men of the 10th,” then he turned in the direction of the 13th, “or you Cohorts of the 13th who were under the command of Sextius.”
The relief was palpable; you could see it in the posture of the men as they slumped in relief, at least as much as one can slump when standing at intente.
“Your conduct and your actions were exemplary, and your comrades in the other Legions owe you a debt of gratitude for protecting them when they turned their backs to the enemy.”
His last words were like the lash of a whip, whatever smug triumph we felt immediately smothered by the stricken looks on the faces of our comrades in the other Legions. There is no greater shame to a Roman Legionary than the idea of turning ones’ back to the enemy to flee, yet that is exactly what happened, and the shame was clearly written in the faces of the accused Legions.
“However,” Caesar’s voice lightened a bit, and it was almost pathetic seeing the look of hope cross the face of these hard men, “your dishonor was not due to any lack of valor. It was due to a lack of discipline perhaps, and indeed, to an excess of fighting spirit.”
Men’s heads lifted a bit as they listened intently to our commander’s words. It was like watching drowning men being thrown a lifeline.
“It was never my intent to press the attack on the walls of the town,” he continued, “but in your zeal, and in your dedication to the idea of victory, you overstepped my orders. I cannot fault your courage, my comrades.”