For however many times only the gods knew by this point, the Pilus Prior waved his sword in the air in a circle, before dropping it down and pointing at the men opposite us, bellowing, “Kill those bastards!”
Again, we responded with a roar, rushing forward. Finally, however, we could sense that this was the final push; the last fort, the last bunch of the enemy, the last battle of the campaign before we could rest. For some of us who dreamed of such things, it was also the last chance for glory, meaning that I was at the head of the Second Cohort as we smashed into our enemy.
Once it was all over, it was easily our hardest and bloodiest battle to date, which given the circumstances, was fitting. The Gallaeci fought like lions, and at some point in the final battle to finish off a last pocket of resistance, I found myself feeling very sad that we had to slaughter such worthy opponents as these. It is a feeling that I have had several times since. In fact, there have been times where I found I have more regard for the men I was killing than some of the men I was fighting with, and I know that I am not alone. On that day, we destroyed the Lucenses branch of the Gallaeci as a fighting force, or at least we thought we did, though they have proven to be a most resilient enemy. In the space of 30 years, they regained enough strength to cause the Imperator Augustus troubles that found the Legions marching once again over terrain that I had as a teenager. However, at the time we marched under the command of his adoptive father, we pacified the province, bringing the Lusitani and the Gallaeci to heel and ending the revolt. When all was said and done, the 10th Legion lost more than 200 men killed, with an equal number wounded severely enough to be dismissed from the Legion. In our Century, out of the original 91 men that made it through the final training and marched out of the camp in Scallabis, there were 74 left on active service; 12 men had been killed outright, including Optio Vinicius, and four had to be sent home. None of them were my tentmates, although five of us had been wounded to one degree or another, myself suffering two wounds, though neither of them were serious enough to see me on the sick and injured list. Vibius took a month to recover, and was left with a slight limp that showed up on cold days or at the end of a hard day’s marching, but otherwise did not slow him down. The day after we took the last Gallaeci fort, the leaders of the resistance still alive came to camp to surrender to Caesar, throwing themselves on his mercy, at a ceremony where we were paraded to watch the spectacle, which we enjoyed immensely. There are few things more satisfying than seeing an enemy humbled before the eagles of the Legions, and it was an event that never diminished in pleasure for me over the years, except when they were fellow Romans. We, the 9th and 10th, marched back south, to be met by the 7th, who had reduced Portus Cale and pacified the area, before continuing our movement until we met the 8th, still guarding their area of Lusitania for the weeks we were pursuing the end of the rebellion. It was in late September that we marched into Scallabis, to be met by adoring crowds, our standards wreathed in the traditional garlands that denote victorious Legions, with Caesar leading the procession. The 10th was given the place of honor on the march into the city, beginning a long relationship with Caesar as his favorite and most reliable Legion, a fact which we were quick to rub in the faces of the other Legions and was the source of many a brawl in the inns and wine shops of the places we were quartered through the years. We spent a month in Scallabis as the wounded men recovered, before marching to Corduba.
Word shot through the army like lightning that Caesar was being awarded a triumph in Rome, and the rumor was that he would be taking the entire army with him to enter the city. Almost as quickly, the word changed, as it is wont to do in an army, although this rumor had the added weight of turning out to be true, at least partially. We were then told that, rather than taking the army, Caesar would be taking the more senior Legions, meaning the 7th, 8th and 9th, leaving the 10th behind. Supposedly the idea was that, over the next years we of the 10th would have our chances to celebrate triumphs, but I can tell you that it did not set well with us. The day before Caesar and the other Legions left for the march to Rome, near the end of October, we were paraded for one final formation in front of the Praetor, where awards for individual bravery were handed out. It was on this occasion that I won my first decoration, a set of phalarae for my actions on the hill when we had been surrounded.
My only warning was the night before, when the Pilus Prior bashed me with his vitus because he judged the coat of varnish on my harness was lacking, and he asked, “What if by some miracle you happened to be chosen to be decorated, eh Pullus? Would you really embarrass the Cohort and the Legion with that sorry job?”
“No, Pilus Prior.”
And I applied another coat of varnish to my harness, although I was sure that when I was finished it looked exactly the same as when I started.
That formation the next day was a glorious affair, one of the reasons Vibius and I joined the army. All four Legions, arrayed in formation in dress uniforms with the horsehair plumes, those of the army previously earning decorations wearing them, with the Centurions standing in front of their Centuries. The weather was glorious and I wished that my sisters and Gaia and Phocas were here to see what was happening, but I had no time to send word to them. I was one of about 30 men from the 10th Legion to be decorated, including two other men from my Century, Rufio being one of them. Two men were awarded the coronacivicus for saving fellow Romans from certain death, and while their awards are the simplest, it is the most prized. The award itself is nothing more than grass plaited together to form a simple crown, yet what it represents is the highest honor one individual Roman can win. Pilus Prior Crastinus was awarded the coronamurales for being the first over the wall in the assault on the first town, his third such award. Although he could have left it to one of the Tribunes in command of the Legion that day, Caesar chose to personally award all the decorations, despite it taking more than a full watch for all of the Legions. Even though he must have talked to more than a hundred men being decorated, he still remembered most of their names, including mine.