“We use the dirt,” I pointed, pausingfor Ivomagus to translate for Cogidubnus and the others gatheredwithin earshot, “to build a dirt wall, and we take the squares ofturf that we cut before we begin digging the wall and use them asthe top layer of the rampart.”
I could see the Parisii king was intenselyinterested in this. After watching for a moment, he turned toIvomagus.
“My brother compliments you,Centurion. He says your men are very organized.” Ivomagus chuckled,and I do not know whether this came from Cogidubnus or fromhimself. “I can tell you that we would never be able to get ourwarriors to work in this manner.”
“You’re not alone,” I told himhonestly, not seeing any point in hiding the truth. “None of thetribes we fought in Germania did either.”
I sensed his face turning sharply in mydirection, and I learned why when he said, “We had heard that onereason Arminius was able to defeat your General Varus was becausethey built fortifications that hemmed your Legions in on badground.”
It took an effort to stifle a groan, but Itook this as a reminder that, just because we knew relativelylittle about Britannia, that did not mean they did not know muchabout Rome.
“Yes,” I admitted, albeit grudgingly.“But that’s the only time I’m aware of them doing that.” I thoughtof the wall built by the Angrivarian tribe that served as the sitefor what we fervently hope is the final defeat of Arminius, but Idecided to keep that to myself. Instead, I changed the subject bysaying, “This is the kind of marching camp we make when we stop forthe day.”
This caused even more of a stir, andIvomagus rattled off this information to his brother, who looked atme in what I took to be wide-eyed astonishment…before bursting intolaughter, whereupon he was immediately joined by his warriors,including the black-haired Parisii who kept eyeing me.
Ignoring the flare of anger, I tried tosound at least partly jovial as I asked Ivomagus, “Why does yourbrother find this so humorous?”
It was his turn to look surprised.
“Because of your jest, Centurion,” heexplained, as if it was a foregone conclusion.
“My jest?” Only then did it occur tome. “Are you talking about how we make a camp like this every daywhen we’re marching on campaign?”
“Yes.” Ivomagus nodded, and lookedrelieved that I had guessed correctly. But as he held his gaze onme, the smile faded. “Wait,” he gasped, “you are not making ajoke?”
He swiveled his head to watch as wickerbaskets full of dirt came flying up out of the ditch, which was nowdeep enough that none of the men doing the work could be seen, andonly their comrades who were dumping the dirt and packing it downwere visible. When he pivoted to face his brother, who was standingon the opposite side of him, I could only watch Cogidubnus’ face asIvomagus relayed that I had not been joking. I have no idea why,but this seemed to shake Cogidubnus, and like his brother, heturned and watched as my men worked.
“Honestly,” I decided to break thesilence that felt awkward to me, “we’re going to be making campmore slowly than we normally do.”
“Why is that?”
I explained to Ivomagus, again waiting forhim to translate, about how our slaves play a small but pivotalrole, because they are the ones who erect the tent for eachsection, then usually start the fires or light the charcoal. Theslaves for the First and Second Centuries had been on the ship withthe animals, which meant they shared whatever fate had befallenthem, and what it meant to us was that the men had to play anunfamiliar role in erecting their own tents. Before the wall wasfully completed, most of the townspeople had drifted off, and thesun was close to setting, and I debated about whether I should letthe Britons into the camp now that the view was obscured. I decidedto do so, thinking that this gesture, however small, would helpestablish more of a sense of trust between us. It turned out to bea mistake, although not for a reason that I could have possiblyfathomed.
“Since we don’t have enough timber,” Iexplained as I led them through the serpentine gateway made ofdirt, “we use this so that an enemy can’t just rush through intothe camp.” The moment the words left my lips, I knew I haderred.
Fortunately, Ivomagus saved any awkwardnessby saying lightly, “I assume that you Romans do this as a standardpractice, and not just because you think we Parisii mightattack?”
I appreciated him phrasing it as a questionso that I could answer, “Yes, you’re correct, Ivomagus. We do thisno matter where we are.” For the first time, I actually thoughtabout why this was so, and I did not feel I was divulging anysecret when I said with a grin, “We Romans usually do thingsbecause that’s how they’ve been done for decades, or evencenturies. So,” I finished as we entered into the camp, “I have noidea why we do that.”
As I hoped, when Ivomagus relayed this,there was a chuckle from at least Cogidubnus, but I barely noticedit, dismayed at what I was seeing before us.
It is such a small thing, something that onenever even thinks about until the moment comes where they are facedwith the situation; in this case, it was the fact that my men hadnever erected their own tents before. Rather than the model ofRoman organization and efficiency, there were groups of menbickering and blaming each other for being unable to perform what,to them, appeared to be a simple task, and it was all occurringbefore the eyes of their Pilus Prior and a handful of Parisiinobility.
“Centurion,” Ivomagus broke thesilence as I stared in dismay at
