Sabinus looked pleased. 'Some extra cash would come in handy too. My wife's always bitching about how little I send her.'
'You're married?'
Sabinus grinned. 'Chained to, more like. Have been for ten years or more. Three kids living, last time I was home. She keeps the farm going with the help of a few slaves. It's only a little place, about halfway between Rome and Capua.' He caught Romulus' wistful look. 'You'll have to come and stay when we're demobbed. Help me take in the crops, roll a slave girl or two in the hay.' He winked. 'If we survive that long, of course.'
'I'd like that,' said Romulus. The idea of having a wife, a family, a place to go back to was immensely appealing. As a former slave, he'd never really thought about such things, but it was easy to see how much it meant to Sabinus, despite the deprecating remarks. What have I to look forward to? Romulus wondered. Other than finding Fabiola and killing Gemellus, precious little. Where would I live? What could I do? Greatly disquieted by these thoughts, he was grateful for the arrival of Atilius. They both scrambled up and stood to attention.
The senior centurion studied them with a practised eye. 'Not bad,' he said. 'You almost look like soldiers now.'
This was the nearest Atilius got to praise, and they both grinned self-consciously.
'Come on then,' he ordered. 'Can't keep the general waiting, can we?'
'No, sir.'
The other members of their contubernium muttered their good wishes as the pair scurried after Atilius like eager puppies.
It wasn't a long walk to the principia, the headquarters, which was situated at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia. These, the two main roads in the massive camp, ran north-south and east-west respectively. The area in front of the huge pavilion which operated as Caesar's office and command centre was already filled with hundreds of legionaries, come to witness the awards ceremony. There was no sign of the general yet, but his senior staff officers were grouped by the tent's entrance. Resplendent in their polished cuirasses, gilded greaves and feathered helmets, they looked magnificent. Twenty hand-picked soldiers from Caesar's party of Spanish bodyguards stood along the pavilion's wall, their irregular dress and weapons at odds with the rest of those present. Every legion's eagle was present, held proudly upright by its aquilifer. The general's own standard, the red vexillum, was also on prominent display. A quartet of trumpeters watched keenly to see when Caesar would emerge.
A short distance from the entrance stood a number of legionaries and officers. Their awkward stance told Romulus that these must be the others up for a decoration. Sure enough, it was to the end of this line that Atilius urged them. 'Good luck,' he whispered.
'What shall we do, sir?' asked Sabinus desperately.
'Salute, accept your award and thank Caesar,' Atilius muttered. 'Then wait to be dismissed.'
They shuffled into place, nodding at the other candidates.
The trumpeters lifted their bucinae and sounded a sharp burst of notes.
'Attention!' cried one of the senior officers.
Every man present snapped upright.
Romulus and his companions were well placed to see Caesar stroll out into the morning air. Dressed in his scarlet cloak, gilded breastplate and leather-bordered skirt, he wore a gladius with an ornate gold and ivory hilt and a scabbard inlaid with silver. A highly polished crested helmet and calf-length leather boots completed his attire. His thin face and long nose gave him a regal air. Caesar looked every part the general.
'At ease,' he said calmly.
Everyone relaxed except Romulus and the other men in the line.
Caesar walked forward and raised his hands. At once an expectant hush fell over the whole gathering. 'Comrades,' he began. 'Yesterday was a long day.'
'That's putting it mildly, Caesar,' shouted a wag from the depths of the assembled men.
A loud gust of laughter rose into the clear air, and Caesar smiled. He liked this badinage with his men: it increased the bond between them. 'It was a hard fight, against terrible odds,' he admitted. 'The enemy did his best to annihilate us. But he did not succeed. Why?' Again Caesar paused, and Romulus saw his art, how the man was a master of oratory as well as a great military leader. He glanced at the men around him, and saw how they were hanging on the general's every word.
'Why?' Caesar repeated his question. 'Because of you.' He pointed dramatically at a legionary near him. The man grinned delightedly. 'And you. You and you.' His forefinger stabbed at a second soldier, and then a third and fourth. 'All of you fought like heroes!'
He let the cry swelling in every man's throat burst forth and, smiling, strode forward to the line where Romulus and Sabinus stood. The cheer went on and on, with the watching legionaries now drumming their swords off the metal rims of their shields to create a deafening wall of noise. Eventually, a single word rose above the crescendo, and Romulus struggled not to shout it himself. 'Cae-sar! Cae-sar! Cae-sar!' the soldiers cried.
The man is a genius, thought Romulus, his own pride brimming over. There's no mention of Caesar's own ability, of the hours of fear and the terror, of the order to stay within four steps of the standards. Just stirring words to make every soldier here think he's as brave as Hercules. It works, too. Romulus had never felt so glad to be a Roman legionary. Shoving back his shoulders, he looked down at his mail shirt and polished scutum boss, hoping that he looked respectable enough to meet his leader.
Eventually the din died away.
Caesar stepped up to the first man in the line, who saluted with alacrity. 'Who is this?' he demanded.
'Centurion Asinius Macro, sir,' boomed one of the senior officers. 'First Century, First Cohort, Fifth Legion. Risked his own life on multiple occasions yesterday, most notably to rescue a section of his men who had been cut off by the enemy.'
Caesar half turned, and a slave stepped forward bearing a bronze tray covered with decorations and leather purses. Picking a gold phalera, Caesar fastened it among the others on Macro's chest harness. He muttered a few words of congratulation, and handed over a purse before moving on, leaving the centurion beaming in his wake.
The process was repeated with each man: an announcement of his name and rank, and what he'd done to deserve his award. All the while, the watching legionaries shouted Caesar's name over and over. The atmosphere was electric, helping to dispel any lingering fears about the previous day from their minds. When Caesar reached Sabinus, Romulus had difficulty in not looking sideways. His pulse began to race. As with the others, their general clapped Sabinus on the shoulder and awarded him a silver phalera and purse. Finally he moved to stand before Romulus.
He snapped rigidly to attention.
'Legionary Romulus, First Century, Second Cohort, Twenty-Eighth Legion,' cried the officer.
'And his reason for standing here?' asked Caesar.
'It was his idea to try and kill Petreius, sir,' Atilius answered. 'In just their tunics, he and two others crossed the battlefield to infiltrate the Numidians. They didn't succeed completely, but legionary Romulus injured the whoreson. The enemy broke and ran, when just a few moments earlier, Petreius had been successfully rallying them. If it hadn't been for Romulus' action, our counter-attack would have been a complete failure.'
Caesar raised his eyebrows. Of course he'd already heard the story. 'You vouch for this man?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Atilius confidently.
'Used to be in the Tenth, didn't you?'
'I did, sir.'
Caesar nodded. 'I heard about your little javelin throw yesterday. Well done.'
Atilius beamed. 'Thank you, sir.'
Caesar turned back to Romulus. 'A worthy deed, it seems.' He frowned suddenly. 'Have we met before?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Romulus, his cheeks flushing.
'Where?'
'In Rome, sir. You granted me my manumission at the arena.'
Recognition flared in Caesar's eyes, and he smiled. 'Oh yes! The slave who killed the Ethiopian bull.'
'Yes, sir,' answered Romulus, his face burning now.
'Killing wild beasts is not your only skill, it seems.'
