Final Campaign

refer to as rabble to stand, in what canonly be described as a formation made of two parts on either sideby the entrance into the Praetorium. And every man amongthem was standing at the perfect position of intente, thetwo groups facing each other and standing silently, staringstraight ahead. My legs seemed to freeze in place, and I stoodthere, unable to move, or speak for that matter, as I felt a hardlump form in my chest. Scribonius and Diocles were in a similarcondition, and I do not know how long we would have remained thereif there was not a sudden movement from the rear rank of the smallformation to the left of the walkway. Hopping towards me wasSpurius Didius, handling his crutches with the ease that comes fromlong, hard practice. Stopping in front of me, he brought himself asclose to intente as a man can get in his condition,rendering me a salute. Although this was not the first time I hadbeen saluted by Spurius Didius, I had always been acutely awarethat he had only rendered this acknowledgement of my authoritybecause it was required of him. He was not my most bitter rival,perhaps, but he was the oldest, and one of the very few stillliving. That day, outside the Praetorium on the CampusMartius, I saw Spurius Didius render a salute that came from hisown free will, and of all the moments of my career, this is onethat is among the most treasured memories.

"Prefect," he announced, "we may no longermarch under the standard, but we're all Legionaries of Rome, andevery one of us is proud to say that we marched with you, in theranks, as one of us."

I will not shame the memory of SpuriusDidius by saying that there were tears in his eyes as he spoke, butthat is only because my own vision was clouded for some reason atthat moment that made it impossible for me to see clearly. Ireturned his salute, and if not as perfect, it was at least asheartfelt as the one that had been offered. Then, in a completebreach of military discipline, I stepped forward to embrace mylongest enemy, kissing him on both cheeks. I will say that it wassomewhat awkward, if only because of the crutches, but I couldthink of no better way to express myself at that moment since Icould not trust myself to speak.

"May the gods protect you, Titus Pullus," hewhispered, his gaunt, lined face, weathered and beaten, showing theemotion I was feeling.

"And you, Spurius Didius," I finallymanaged, abjuring for the moment my vow not to invoke the favor ofthe gods, telling myself that this was one breach I couldexcuse.

Stepping away from him, it was then that Inoticed something else, and this was extraordinarily alarming, evenif it was flattering. Every man, at least all that I could see as Ilooked down the even and perfectly aligned ranks, was armed in someway. Most of them appeared to be carrying cudgels, but I saw atleast one sword, something that is strictly forbidden unless it isbeing used in some official exercise or capacity.

"Didius," I gasped. "Why are the menarmed?"

For the briefest instant, I saw a flash ofthe old Didius, a sly, crafty look flitting across his face as heglanced over his shoulder.

He gave an elaborate shrug and replied, "Oh,that? The boys have heard there might be some trouble. One of theAventine gangs is at war with the Quirinal bunch. They're justbeing prepared is all."

"Ah," I muttered. "Well, we wouldn't wantthem to fall victim to the gangs, would we? I mean, after allthey've been through, it would be a shame if some cunnuscivilian bandit managed to do what the Gauls couldn't, neh?"

Didius gave me a grin almost completelybereft of teeth.

"Exactly my thoughts, Pullus! Not aftereverything we've been through! After all, hurting one of us is thesame as hurting all of us, isn't it?"

Although I cannot say what is in anotherman's mind, I am sure that Didius was talking about more than theAventine gangs. For a brief moment, I considered ordering him tohave the men disarm, but dismissed it. After all, I told myself,they are not under the standard anymore. They are citizens, and Ihave no authority to order civilians to do anything. Such are thefictions we tell ourselves at times, I suppose. Resuming myprogress to the Praetorium, I slowed long enough forScribonius to reach my side.

"Did you know about any of this?" I shot hima sidelong glance, my suspicion confirmed by the way he made apoint not to look anywhere in my direction.

"About the first part?" he said finally."Yes. The second?" He shook his head, looking troubled. "That Ididn't know about. Why didn't you tell them to get rid ofthem?"

I thought for a moment as we continuedwalking.

"I suppose a part of me would be happy ifthey let these bastards know that there are limits to how they canuse us to their own ends," was all I could think to say.

"That's understandable," Scribonius agreed.Then, he looked over and gave me a grin. "Not very smart, perhaps.But understandable. And I've never known you to take the smart waywhen the hard one is just sitting there waiting for you."

Our laughter echoed off the brick of thePraetorium as we entered the building to learn what myfuture held. Or if I had one at all.

Tribune Piso was already waiting for us,rising from our table as I entered.

"Prefect." Although he gave me a smile, Icould see that it was forced, making me think he had heardsomething already. Fortunately, it was just a case of nerves. "TheTribunes haven't arrived yet. So there's nothing to do butwait."

How wonderful, I thought sourly, my absolutefavorite thing to do, wait for anything, particularly when it isimportant, at least to me. Sitting down, I studied the Tribune outof the corner of my eye, trying to determine if he had any hint ofwhat was coming, but aside from looking nervous, he gave me no signthat he would be any less surprised, one way or the other, than Iwould be. Surprising me considerably, especially as time went by,was the absence of Tribune