Crastinus continued directing the section leaders as I stood there. He was clearly ignoring me, only fueling my sense of anxiety, and I tried not to fidget as I waited for him to turn his attention to me. Once finished with them, the section leaders dispersed, among them Calienus, who was sporting a bandage on his upper arm and a slash along his jaw. Meeting my eyes as he passed me, he did not say anything; the shake of his head was eloquent enough. Once they were away I continued standing there, trying to tell myself that the shaking in my legs was because I was still tired, but Crastinus continued to ignore me, barking out orders to some of the nearby Legionaries. Finally, after what seemed like a third of a watch but was probably no more than a hundred heartbeats, he turned his full attention to me, looking me up and down, his face expressionless, the invisible man with the turd again taking the day off. Staring at a spot above him, out of the corner of my eye I could see the fatigue in his face, the lines etched by the countless days of weather and sun even deeper now than before, with the rings under his eyes making it look like he had been punched in the face. It was the first time I saw Gaius Crastinus as just a man, like me and the rest of my comrades, and not some demigod sent by Mars to torment young Legionaries. When he spoke, it was not in his command voice, but with a tone I had never heard from him before, even the one night when we were sworn in.
“You know if I were to abide by the regulations, I should have you scourged at the very least, and scourged and crucified at the very worst.”
My jaw clenched as the fear caused by his words struck deep into my heart. Besides the pain, the shame and humiliation would be unbearable, and I was already regretting my rashness. Then, a miracle happened.
“But,” my heart did another skip, “it wouldn't be very gracious to kill a man who saved my life. Besides,” he continued, “it wouldn't help morale, seeing as how you also probably saved the lives of the rest of the Century, not to mention the Second’s as well.”
Shaking his head, he tried to suppress a smile; his words had already unburdened my soul and I could feel my chest beginning to swell with pride.
“What you did last night, boy, was one of the stupidest things I've seen in all my years under the standards, but it was also the bravest. I told you once that I thought you might have a future in the Legions, and last night didn't change my mind.”
Fighting the urge to smile, that urge was blown away like smoke in a strong breeze with his next words. Stepping close to whisper in my ear so only I could hear, there was no mistaking his tone, even at a whisper.
“But if you ever disobey me again, I don’t care how decorated or famous you are, I'll gut you myself, and I'll make it look like you were killed in battle and nobody will ever know. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir.”
It seemed crystal clear to me that this was the only answer I could give, especially since I held no doubt whatsoever that he was completely serious, and capable of doing what he promised. I could handle myself and more with the barbarian tribes, but I harbored no illusions how long I would last with a man like Crastinus. Just as quickly, he switched back to a human being and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Good. And we'll speak no more about it. I know I won’t have to.”
Making my way back to my section’s gear, I passed the area where the bodies of our dead were laid out, and I am somewhat ashamed to record the relief that I felt when I saw faces I recognized, but none from my own Century. There were nine men on the ground, and as I moved on, I saw an even larger group, all of them in varying degrees of distress from their wounds. One man was moaning while the medici who was assigned to us did what he could to make him as comfortable as one can be when the only thing keeping one’s guts inside their body is a linen bandage. It will be ten dead at least, I thought as I walked past, then I spotted Romulus sitting on the ground, a bandage on his head obscuring one eye. It struck me with dread at the thought that he might be maimed and unable to continue in the Legions, except I was too timid to ask him, so I decided I would ask Remus when I saw him since he would undoubtedly know. I found my tentmates seated by their gear eating their morning meal. Vibius, looking up and seeing me, smiled and rose to his feet, then the others saw me, whereupon they too stood. I slowed as I got near; this was not how I was usually greeted.
Vibius stepped forward and ignoring the gore that was still caked on me and my gear, embraced me, and whispered, “You crazy bastard. If the Lusitani hadn’t killed you, I swore I was going to for scaring me so badly. But now when I see you I’m just happy that you’re still alive.”
“Me too.”
There was nothing more said before the rest of my comrades were on me, pounding me on the back and congratulating me. Only two men hung back; Didius, which did not surprise me, but Calienus was the other, which did, and I was mystified by the reception.
“Everyone in the Century is talking about it,” Scribonius explained. “You single-handedly saved both Centuries last night. Those bastards had broken through and it was you who stopped them and saved all of us.”
I did not know what to say, but in truth, I was not of a mind to dispute what was said. When you are young and dream of glory, how hard are you going to argue when such honors are laid at your feet?
The Lusitani had withdrawn; they approached under a flag of truce while I was asleep early in the morning asking to retrieve their wounded, which the Pilus Prior granted. They left behind almost 300 dead, out of an original force estimated to be between 500 and 600 strong. My tentmates claimed that there were less than a hundred unscathed, the rest being wounded to various degrees. Our butcher’s bill ended up with ten dead, twelve wounded that would return at some point to full duty, and another nine whose wounds were disabling to the point where they would be put out of the Legion on permanent disability. Added to that were the four men we lost when we moved to the hill. It did not matter whether they were killed outright, or had been too seriously wounded like the man who grabbed at Calienus’ ankle; once they fell they were dead men. I was just happy that Romulus was not one of those too badly wounded to continue under the standard, sustaining a serious wound just above his eye, while the eye itself was spared. The scar he carried gave him the look of a pirate or brigand of some sort, except much to our surprise and chagrin, we discovered that it seemed to be a point of attraction to the ladies, who would coo and flutter about him, asking him how he got it. It was not long before some of us were hoping that we could someday be mutilated in the face to enable us to become the object of the same kind of attention. Even as the Lusitani were finishing up the gathering of their wounded and making preparations to retreat, a column of dust started drifting towards us, the sign that Crastinus had been correct; help was indeed on the way. While we waited for the relief column to arrive, the Pilus Prior sent small groups of men out foraging for wood to build funeral pyres, and some sort of animal, preferably a white goat or sheep, to sacrifice during the funeral rites. Although the latter group came back empty handed, it turned out that it did not matter. As usual, Caesar thought of everything so that when he dispatched the column in relief, he sent along the proper animals for sacrifice, knowing that we would have had casualties. It was also a subtle message to all of us that said he knew the only reason we could possibly be delayed was because we were locked in desperate battle. The remaining men were detailed to dig a pit to throw the bodies of the Lusitani in, with a small number of men standing guard. Between the beating we had just given them, and the sight of the column, Crastinus was convinced that the Lusitani would not do anything foolish and just be content instead to limp off with their tail between their legs. I was exempted from duties as a reward for my antics the night before, yet after a few moments, I could not watch my friends digging without getting up to help, so I pitched in. It also helped pass the time, and gave us a chance to recount the events of the day before. In between shovelfuls, Atilius gave a running commentary on everything that happened as he saw it, with the others adding in their own obol’s worth.