“Then, Cato, you have attained your freedom. Now that you have it, don’t fail me when we are facing Hannibal and his horde. Is that understood, legionnaire?”
Cato bolted to his feet with a wide grin and eagerly replied with a snap salute, “YES, SIR!”
“Then, you best be back to sharpening that sword.”
Gaius left Cato, who did as he was told, grabbing his sword and the wet-stone, and continued putting a fine polish to the blade.
Gaius continued through the camp. He knew that Cato wasn’t alone — men from all backgrounds: creditable, unlawful, the poor and the wealthy came to the call. Each had their own reasons for being here, whether it was for immortal glory, steady pay; food in their bellies or, like Cato, idealistic patriots, Gaius knew that, while not ideal, Rome was better for it. The Republic was not mindless, nor was it represented in its buildings, walls or its government. He had learned — his faith in Rome restored that night Julia showed him the city he had always dreamt of, that she was worthy of his blood. It filled him with pride to know that he wasn’t alone in his beliefs.
It was then that Gaius’ overheard the sentry’s horn blow, which resonated across the camp as the watchmen in the towers had spotted something over the rise.
Gaius hurried forward as dozens of officers rose from their beds, rallying their men to arms. The horn sounded again; no doubt they saw a force coming to the city.
Gaius climbed the walls and took his position next to the watch commander, eagerly asking, “What do you see?”
“I don’t know yet, sir. My man saw something over the horizon,” the commander replied.
“Are you certain?”
“The boy is young, but he has eyes like a hawk.”
Gaius struggled to narrow his vision. It was dark, and even though the moon hung high overhead, he struggled to see what might have caught the watch’s attention.
He tried to listening, but behind him, the centurions were rallying their men, forming them into ranks. There was more than enough to hold the fort, but Gaius feared that Hannibal might be making a move for Rome — would he and his ill-trained soldiers be able to stop him from laying siege?
“Shall we hold men to arms?”
“Yes,” Gaius answered after a short pause as he thought the matter over. It was then as he finished his word that he heard the faint sounds of marching. It was erratic, not formal and spread out over a wide area. However, slowly, with each passing minute the sounds of marching men carried over the camp.
“Send a rider back to Rome and inform the consuls that we possibly have an attacking force heading for the city. Tell them to wait for further word, but to seal the city gates and man the walls.”
“At once, sir.”
Gaius waited as he narrowed his vision, which was slowly starting to adjust to the darkness. Still, he could see barely anything but silhouettes against the blackened horizon. Eventually, those forms took shape as the men within the walls stood nervously.
“Sir, they look to be Roman!” the lookout with the bird-like vision called out, as he stood high above the tower.
“Are you certain?” the watch commander called out.
“Pretty sure, sir.”
“We know the enemy has been taking our weapons and kit since the first battle. This could be a trick,” the watch commander uttered quietly to Gaius, who stood without saying a word as he studied the darkened figures that slowly moved nearer.
Gaius’ eye opened wide with the sudden realization at what he was seeing. The banner of the Sixth Legion was carried before a small collection of men wearing Roman kit. At the head of the column was Valerius, who even with a thick grey beard, Gaius could have recognized anywhere.
“Order the men to stand firm, and have the first century ready. I’m going outside,” Gaius ordered the watch commander as he was already rushing down the stairs.
“Are you sure that is wise, sir?” the commander asked, but Gaius merely repeated his instructions as he raced down from the walls.
A moment later, Gaius joined his men before ordering the gate to be opened. He couldn’t take any chances. While that might have been Valerius outside, it did not mean that the old veteran wasn’t a hostage, sent forth so an ambush waiting outside couldn’t cease the moment and strike. Hannibal had proven his cunning, so Gaius was not about to make a mistake that would cost, not just the lives of his men, but Rome itself.
The heavy wooden gates were pulled open by a team of horses. Archers and spearmen stood high on the walls, prepared to unleash their anger on the command, while several thousand men behind Gaius, stood in perfect formation, set to repel any attempt to breach the walls. Gaius knew, however, if this did turn out to be a trick, he probably wouldn’t have time to return to the fort. He had already ordered the gates sealed until he gave further instruction. If an attack did come, they would not be opened, regardless.
“Forward!” Gaius ordered with a strong voice, hiding much of his own apprehension. He prayed to the gods that it was Valerius, even if an ambush lies in wait. At least, his old friend would be safe and alive, for the time being.
Once outside the heavy gates closed with a looming thud. He could see now that the men carrying the banner of the Sixth Legion had stopped several dozen yards from his position. No doubt if Valerius was with them, he would not want to press too close, or fear that a nervous sentry might throw a javelin prematurely.
Two dozen paces from where the small group of soldiers stood Gaius halted his men and called out, “Friend or foe?!" Immediately, he felt like a fool. Any self-respecting barbarian would say a friend. It was, in fact, the reply he got. More importantly, it was Valerius’ voice that called back.
Gaius swallowed hard, deciding against his better judgment that he should proceed. He doubted that Valerius could have been coerced into setting a trap, and if it had been any other man, he would have half the legion marched out to confront the uncertain threat. As it stood, he trusted his heart over reason. He wanted Valerius to be alive and well; nothing would up lift his spirit more than to see his old mentor again.
When Gaius finally saw Valerius clearly in the torchlight, he could hardly contain himself as he rushed out ahead of his men and embraced the legate.
“Valerius! I thought you long for this world,” Gaius commented as he pulled Valerius back, who moaned with a bit of pain as his tired body had obviously been through quite the ordeal.
“Are these all the men you’ve brought?” he then quickly asked, gazing passed Valerius at the collection of two dozen soldiers, all badly needing a shave and clean clothes.
“No. I have several hundred more survivors with me. I kept them back in case the watch commander was jumpy,” Valerius managed to reply with a smile.
“Call them forth,” Gaius eagerly said, but he quickly placed his hand onto Valerius' shoulder and steadied his words. “But be mindful. Bring them in slow, to be safe. Understood, sir?” Gaius felt odd telling Valerius what to do, but the old soldier was wise, and experienced enough to understand Gaius’ meaning without taking offense. He replied with a simple nod as he turned toward one of his men and relayed his instructions.
Back inside the fort, Gaius kept much of his men at arms and formed up. He wasn’t taking any chances, not until all of Valerius’ men had been accounted for, and disarmed. Thankfully, the old general and his remaining officers were understanding, and obliged to Gaius’ orders.
“Quartermaster! Get previsions, clean clothes, medical supplies and anything else you can find, at the double,” Gaius ordered as he, and his officers tried to keep order as Valerius and the eight hundred men he had with him were kept near the center of the fort. His staff were trying to determine who among the men needed the most care, and from what he could see, many, if not all were nearly starving — their bloodied kit, armor and clothes bloodstained, caked with week’s worth of filth, that most of the men looked to be wearing rags.