Somehow, Ariovistus managed to escape, getting across the Rhenus in a small boat, but the rest of his family was not so fortunate. He had two wives, both of whom were slain, along with one of his two daughters, the other being captured and sold into slavery. Luckily, both Metius and Procilus were found still alive, although a little worse for wear, having been roughed up a bit by the Germans while being held captive. But the threat posed to the Aedui, Sequani, and other tribes by Ariovistus and his Germans was permanently removed, earning the gratitude of the tribes, at least for a while. Our losses in the 10th had been pleasantly light; in our Century nobody had been killed, with only a couple being seriously wounded and who would return to duty after only a couple of months’ recuperation. The 7th and 12th were not so fortunate, suffering heavy losses when they were surrounded by the Germans, but at least now both the 11th and 12th were veteran Legions like us. Despite it still being early to end the campaign season, the fact was that there was nobody left for us to fight. In the space of one abbreviated season, we had crushed the Helvetii and Ariovistus, so Caesar decided to send us to winter quarters early, marching us back to Vesontio, where the camp was awaiting us to make the necessary improvements for winter quarters. When we marched back to the town, the citizens lined the road to cheer us as we went marching by.
“Not as good as marching in a triumph, but it’s better than nothing,” grumped Vibius, who seemed to be determined to not be impressed or pleased with anything.
This was a trait of his, and I could not decide whether it was becoming more pronounced, or I was just growing weary of it. Despite his sour words, I caught him smiling from ear to ear at the accolades from the people lining our path. The small city had swelled in population; somehow the word that this would be our winter quarters was known by the camp followers long before we heard, so that all the various tradesmen, pimps, wine merchants and whores were there to greet us, along with the proper citizens of Vesontio. Beginnings of a shanty town were already springing up outside the camp gates, and the men started to talk excitedly of finally being released to spend the booty we had earned, some of it on whores, some of it on wine, although most of it would be lost to dice or other games of chance. As for myself, I was still smarting over having my pay docked for my ruined shield, so I had no plans on losing any other part of my money in the same manner as my comrades. It was not that I was a prude, or disapproved in any way the various pleasures of the flesh, and I knew myself well enough to know that despite my best intentions some of my money would end up in the purses of the purveyors of vice. However, I still had ambitions and plans, plans that called for money. Despite my visit home and the admonition from Phocas and Gaia about the folly of trying to buy their freedom from my father, I was determined that I was going to do just that, one way or the other. I also resolved that I was going to make more of an effort to write, although I wish I could say it was for selfless motives. This would be my third winter in garrison and I had learned how boring it was, so I was looking for new ways to pass the time, and for this winter I decided that I was going to pursue learning to read better. Now that I was a Sergeant, I was going to have to start doing paperwork, the bane of every soldier above the rank of Gregarii's existence; I knew of several men who would have made fine Optios or Centurions but chose to stay in the ranks just to avoid paperwork.
Before Caesar left for the Province to resume his normal duties as governor, a formation was held where decorations were awarded, and it was here that I earned my first coronacivica, for saving Scribonius against the Helvetii. It came as a total shock to me; I had not known that I was even being considered, but the evening before the formation, the Primus Pilus once again showed up in front of our tent, bringing the Pilus Prior with him.
“This is becoming a habit Pullus,” he joked, which I laughed at dutifully, although I did not find it particularly amusing.
Despite my record and my hunger for glory, I still possessed the ordinary soldier’s suspicion of being singled out. Every time I was summoned, even if I was told the reason, I was sure that it would turn out to be for some sort of chastisement or punishment. I think it was this insecurity that made me such a good Legionary; no matter how hard I worked, I never thought I was deserving of any praise, preferring to focus instead on the things I did wrong and convincing myself that I had been found out.
Continuing, he said, “You’re being decorated tomorrow morning, so I don’t have to tell you that your gear better be perfectly polished. The Pilus Prior will inspect you first thing in the morning, so you better get to it.”
Standing there for a moment, I tried to figure out what this was all about. I could not think of anything I had done that was especially noteworthy, so I asked, “Sir, if it’s not too much to ask, would the Primus Pilus care to tell me what it is I’m being decorated for?”
He shrugged. “Can’t say that I know myself. All I know is that you better be standing tall and ready for inspection an hour after morning call.”
I knew better than to argue or keep pressing, so I just said, “Yes sir,” and returned to the tent to begin polishing my gear.
That next morning, I and about 40 other men from the 10th Legion were recognized for bravery, while I was one of two from the Legion to be awarded the coronacivica. Since it is worn on the head, it is necessary to remove your helmet, and it was only when I received the order to do so that I got an inkling of what I was about to receive. My mind raced; we had not assaulted any towns in either campaign, so it could not be a coronamuralis, and we had not relieved any besieged force. Anyway, I was not of sufficient rank to receive a coronavallaris. Caesar stepped forward, Labienus and the Primus Pilus next to him, the Primus Pilus holding a pillow of some rich fabric, on which lay a simple grass crown. My throat tightened; winning this award for saving the life of a fellow Roman citizen is considered the highest honor a man can receive, and here I was barely 20 years old and I was being awarded this honor. Tribune Labienus unrolled a scroll, reading the citation aloud in his braying, parade ground voice, describing the event for which I was being decorated. It was for my rescue of Scribonius that day against the Helvetii, and the instant Labienus spoke the words, I was transported back to that moment, seeing the Helvetii warrior about to plunge his spear into Scribonius’ unprotected face. Feeling a warmth flow through me, I thought how happy I was that it was Scribonius that I saved, because I considered him a true friend, a good man and a good Legionary. For another time I found myself looking down at a beaming Caesar, then bowed my head to save him from being forced to stand on tiptoe to place the corona on my head. It was very light, the woven grass tickling my closely shaven scalp, and I was barely conscious of the words Caesar spoke to me.
“We meet once again Sergeant Pullus, and once again, you bring honor to the 10th Legion.”
“The honor is mine, Caesar,” I replied. “I’m just happy that I was able to save one of my friends from death.”
He gave me a thoughtful look, then said quietly, “That’s really all it’s about, isn’t it? We do what we do for our friends.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed back through his own past. “Did you know I was awarded the same honor, when I was just about your age?” he asked, and I showed my surprise; I had not been aware of it until that moment.
Seeing my face, he laughed, “I know that it was a long time ago, probably before you were born. How old are you now Pullus?”