This was the way I made my way through thecrowd of men, each of them seemingly eager to clasp arms with meand remind me of some episode during our entwined pasts, most ofthem which I am happy to say I remembered. Looking back on it now,it was perhaps one of the most moving moments of my life, if onlybecause it was so unexpected. These were men with whom I shared abond that cannot be expressed in words, and to whom Rome owed agreat deal. I understand that most citizens look at Legionaries asbeing greedy, crude, and little better than criminals, and whilethere is some truth in that characterization, what my fellowcivilians either ignore or overlook are the conditions these menwere forced to endure, for years. I am not even speaking of theharsh discipline; consider that while on campaign, every night onthe march we constructed a camp with ditches, wall, and palisade.We spent half of every year outside, in the rain, snow, bakingheat, and biting cold, fighting the elements as much as we battledthe enemies of Rome. Yes, we are paid well, and for the most partwe are fed well, especially when compared to the vast majority ofour fellow citizens, but as I looked around at these men, I saw alarge number of them missing a body part of some sort. For some, itwas just a digit or two; others were missing an arm, or leg. Infact, there was one man who was on crutches and hung at the back ofthe crowd, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. But crutchesor no, even with the passing of time and all that it does to a man,there was something in the way that he carried himself, just theway he hopped about that caught my attention. I was not alone; infact, it was Scribonius who let out a gasp, although he just beatme by a heartbeat.
"Didius?"
It was, in fact, Spurius Didius, who I hadbeen thinking about just days before, wondering if he was stillalive. He was, but in the years since I had seen him, time had notbeen kind to him. I suppose losing a leg had something to do withit, but I will say that when I pushed my way past the other men tooffer him my arm, his grip was still strong. Of all the men in myCentury, only Spurius Didius approached me in strength. This, and afew other differences, had put us on a collision course that lastedfor many, many years. However, there is something to be said forsurviving the hardest fighting any army of Rome has ever seen andits ability to rub off the hard edges of enmity. I daresay that bythe time of his wound that resulted in the loss of his leg we hadreached at the very least an uneasy truce. It was through myintercession with Caesar that got Didius his full pension andbonus, despite the fact that he had lost his leg in the last daysof the civil war with Caesar, just a month before the end of thefirst enlistment of the 10th Legion.
"Achilles," I said, with a broad smile on myface.
For a moment, I thought I had blundered inbringing up the nickname that he had earned during our firstcampaign in Hispania, when he had taken himself out of the actionafter stepping on a nail. It had been one of the Mallius brotherswho had bestowed upon him the name, although I no longer rememberwhether it was Romulus or Remus, both of them now dead more yearsthan they had been alive. But a grin broke out on Didius' face ashe grabbed at my outstretched arm, balancing on his crutches.
"By the gods, I haven't heard that name inyears," he exclaimed, his voice carrying the rasp of a man whospends much of his time indoors, in smoky inns. "I had forgottenabout that!"
He glanced down at his remaining leg, andwhen he looked back up, although he still wore a smile, I could seethe pain behind it.
"But if I'm not mistaken, it was the legthat's gone that was the one with the bad heel." I knew Didius'grimace was his version of a grin, and I laughed more heartily thanhis jest probably deserved.
By this point, Scribonius had joined us and,for a brief moment, it was as if there were no other men about, andit was just the three of us, surrounded by the ghosts of those whohad formed our first tent section. Without warning, I wastransported back to the pre-dawn darkness of the morning thatVibius and I had shown up to join the Legion, sitting in the darkand listening to the others around us talk about what was ahead forus. It had been Didius who boasted about how many men he wouldkill, while Scribonius' voice had been the one warning us that whatwe were about to face was going to be harder than anything we hadever attempted in our young lives. Looking at the other two, it waseasy to see their thoughts were running along parallel paths, andwe said nothing, just smiling at each other as we enjoyed thismoment of silent brotherhood.
Finally, I broke the silence, "Didius, Ican't tell you how much seeing you means, especially rightnow."
My former rival looked down at the ground,obviously embarrassed.
"Pullus, I've always hated your guts," hesaid, his eyes still downcast, "or at least I thought I did. Butone thing only having one leg does for a man, and that is make himthink about how he came to this point in his road. You didn't haveto do what you did with Caesar and helping me get my pension,especially after all that I did to fight your authority."
Scribonius turned to look at me, his eyebrowarching in a way that said more than any words.
"You were a rock in my boot," Iacknowledged, but still with a smile, "but I'll say that I
