Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul by R. W. Peake Page A

Vellusius being the excess. His father had a farm in the far north-west of the province in Nertobriga; it took him a week to arrive at Corduba and he had gotten a later start like we had, accounting for his relatively late arrival along with the rest of us. He was about as tall as Vibius, but built much more slightly, with a bristle of black hair that seemed to stick straight up, no matter how much oil he used to keep it flat. To me, he looked a bit like a bird, with the same kind of nervous movement and constant peering at his surroundings, as if waiting for a cat to come along, but he turned out to be a good soldier, though, one of the best in our Century. Finally, there was Didius, who had calmed his mouth somewhat, just not enough to suit me or the others. Despite being shorter than I was, he was built similarly to me, and indeed he turned out to be quite strong, perhaps as strong as I was, something I had not encountered before. Perhaps, if I am being honest, that is one of the reasons that I disliked him as much as I did, although if that is true it does not adequately explain the hatred the others held for him before much time would pass from this first day. Still, at that moment, we were willing to give him a chance, despite his bragging and generally unpleasant attitude. Didius told us that he was born to be in the Legions, like his father and father before him, who were great heroes in their own right, although he would outshine them, and the rest of us. I took care to hide my feelings, munching on my bread with what I hoped was a bland expression. Calienus just gave a slight grin, as if he had heard it all before, which he had. Once we were done, he told us about himself. He was 28, and had been in the Legion for ten years, but re-enlisted for the full sixteen year term that Caesar set as the length for this enlistment of the 10th Legion, all for the chance of promotion to Sergeant. He was also immune , having skill as an armourer, his father being one before him and teaching him his craft. That meant that he was exempt from most of the other duties, with the exception of standing watch during the night hours, when he would not have been working anyway. Calienus was in Pompey’s 1st Legion, a fact that gave him instant respect, and had been with Pompey during his short but sharp campaign against the pirates, recently returning from the war against Mithridates, which was the talk of the Roman world ever since. He fought in over thirty engagements, and was wounded four times, once so seriously that he almost died from the infection. Calienus was a hardcore Pompeian, and I sometimes wonder if things had worked out differently what road he would have traveled. But I am ahead of myself again; forgive me, gentle reader, it is the prerogative of the elderly to sometimes meander. Introductions done, with the light beginning to fade, we continued talking and asking questions of Calienus, all of which he answered with great patience. Finally, the horn blew that signaled it was time to retire, and we entered the tent to make preparations for sleep. Because it was our first night, we were not entered as part of the duty rotation, though that would change the next day when the last member of the tent section joined us. It was just as well; we were all exhausted and I think even if Hannibal himself had risen from the dead to mount an attack on the camp, it would have been impossible to rouse us from our slumber. I do not even remember lying on my cot, and in the morning I awoke in the exact same position in which I had fallen asleep, something that would become a common occurrence over the next few weeks.
     
    The next morning we were roused, again before daylight, to start our day, being given just a few moments to eat what we saved from the night before, then forming up outside the tent. Pilus Prior Crastinus came striding up, with the same invisible numen waving the same invisible turd under his nose.
     
    “Well, you cunni