“But if you’re being honest, while you’re sad, you’re also a little bit relieved that it’s not you, or one of your friends. Am I right?”
Despite agreeing with this, this time it was a bit more reluctantly.
“And that’s normal. Don’t think there's something wrong with you for feeling this way. It doesn’t mean that you’re not sorry to see good men die when you’re happy that it's not someone you know. If they were alive now, and you were the dead ones, they'd be feeling the exact same way.” He stood to leave, but before he did, he finished with, “That’s why we train so hard, so we have as few of these moments as we can. If I do my job right, none of you will have to feel how the men in that Century are feeling tonight.”
Bidding us good night, he left to go to the next tent and talk to them, leaving us even deeper in our thoughts than before.
The next two days were spent in that camp before marching again, it being the custom to take one day off after a few days of continuous marching, although Caesar regularly ignored this later on. Another thing that Caesar ignored was the customary distance and stopping time for the day, preferring to push on for at least two more parts of a watch, so that we often ended up working in the dark to finish the camp, yet this was one of the things that made Caesar as feared as he was, because of the rapidity of his movements. Coupled with his famous lack of hesitation, it meant that his army could appear somewhere long before they were expected, and was a key factor in keeping our enemy off balance. However, I think that the extra day was not just because of the rest, but also because we had suffered our first casualties, and were a largely unblooded army. Caesar wanted the veterans to have time to talk to those of us who had yet to see battle and try to help us understand what it all meant, as well as prepare proper funeral rites for our first dead without having to rush. I for one was eager to get back on the march, because the sooner we reached the barbarians, the sooner we could engage and avenge the deaths of our comrades. Despite not knowing them, they were men who suffered through the same things I had; the forced marches, the feeling of the vitus across our backs, the fatigue of trying to stay awake standing on a wall where you knew nobody was going to attack or make any other kind of mischief. They were brothers to all of us, even if the best I could say was that I had seen them around the camp during our training. Such is the feeling that we have for each other, and that feeling is fostered and encouraged by our officers. It is yet another reason why the Legions are so rightly feared; to hurt one of us is to hurt our brother, and we will have vengeance if that happens.
The mood as we set out on the march again was subdued, yet underlying that was a sense of anticipation. Despite remaining stationary those two days, our scouts had been extremely active, and came back with news that there was a town a day’s march away, and judging from the tracks, it served as the source of the mounted men who attacked the Century and the wagon. The news of this find ran up and down the army like a bolt of lightning, with the idea of vengeance putting a sudden urgency into our step. No longer did our Centurions have to curse at us to keep the pace up; indeed they found themselves in the unusual position of trying to slow us down so that we did not leave the baggage train and the rear Cohorts too far behind.
“Do you think we’re going to attack the town tomorrow, or will we assault it as soon as we get there?” Romulus asked this of Calienus, who shook his head.
“There’s no telling,” the Sergeant replied. “It all depends on whether or not it looks like they're ready for us I would guess.”
This made sense to us, except that he was wrong, but only because we were marching with Caesar. Any other general would have done the prudent thing as Calienus suggested, a thorough reconnaissance before making any decisions, yet other generals were not Caesar. However, we were blissfully unaware of this as we marched towards the village.
I do not know the name of the town, but it was easy to see. It sat perched on a hill that commanded the surrounding plain so the barbarians could see us coming just like we could see them sitting there. At first it was just a dark spot on the horizon, a speck sitting on a bump that ever so slowly got larger as we marched. All of our eyes were fixated on that spot, knowing that for most of us, we would be facing battle for the first time in our lives. This was not training, this was going to be the real thing, and none of us who had yet to be blooded could imagine what we were about to face. Perhaps Vibius and I, and some of the others with kin that served, had a better idea, yet even we knew that no matter how descriptive veterans were with us, it was going to pale in comparison with what we were about to experience. With the sun moving across the sky, while it did not seem to be any hotter than any other day up to that point, I found that my sweat poured more freely than during any previous day’s march. Glancing over at Scribonius, I could see that his face glistened with moisture as well, so I at least knew that if it was not the heat but nerves I was not alone. The chattering that was normal as we marched was also less than other days, kept to a few muttered comments between men who marched next to each other, the customary banter and catcalls that men in one Century or Cohort would call out across the ranks almost completely missing, so that the sounds of the clinking and clanking of our gear along with the rhythmic thudding of our feet dominated the air. Slowly, ever so slowly, the village became more distinct and started to take shape.
It was just about two thirds of a watch before sundown when we were halted a little more than a mile from the town, which we could plainly see now. It had a wooden wall around it, but did not appear to have any kind of ditch or other defensive measures, relying on its position on the hill and the slope that would have to be climbed first to get to the base of the wall before any assault of the town could begin. The wall itself appeared to be about ten feet tall, and while made of wood, the parapet was crenellated, with men clearly seen in the gaps watching us as we slowly spread out before them. The 8th was given the vanguard that day, in honor of the fallen men, so they were arrayed first, in the triplexacies formation. We were third in line, just ahead of the baggage train, making it almost sunset by the time we arrived to take a place to the left of the 8th and the 7th, occupying the far left of the line. The cornicen sounded the signal for the Legion officers to join the command group, with the Primus Pilus and Tribunes for each Legion moving to where Caesar’s standard was displayed, the red pennant that denotes the presence of the commanding general. Being in the First Century of the Second Cohort meant that we were in the front line, although I was in the last row of the Century, with the Fifth Century immediately behind us, and I could hear them talking behind me, the topic the same thing that occupied all of us. Were we going to attack, this late in the day? We were standing easy, with our gear grounded, the only order given to that point indicating we might be going into battle being the order to unsling our shields, which we rested on the ground in front of us. Staring at the walls, I examined the men watching us as they moved about, gesturing at us to their comrades, saying the gods only knew what. I remember wondering if what they were thinking was similar to what I was thinking, which was wondering what they were thinking. Still, no matter what was in their minds they were certainly active, bustling about and starting fires behind the walls, their locations identified by the trails of smoke. That got me wondering what the fires were for, but none of the ideas that I could come up with gave me any comfort.