Free Nobody Loves a Centurion by John Maddox Roberts Page B

this.”
    “Don’t bother,” Burrus advised. “He’ll just back his First Spear and you’ll only annoy both of them.”
    “He’s right, sir,” Quadratus affirmed. “Vinius can deal with just about any staff officer he doesn’t like. You’d best stay out of it.”
    “We’ll see. I have to finish my rounds. I’ll see you men again before daylight.”
    “Bring your shield next time, Patron,” Burrus said, chuckling. How a man in his position could see humor in anything was mystifying, but I was impressed enough to overlook his little insolence.
    An officer is never supposed to show fear before the ranks,so I waited until I was out of their sight before I ducked under the protection of the palisade and made my way to the next sentry post in a ludicrous, bent-kneed crouch. I straightened again only when I came in sight of the next pair and resumed my fearless swagger.
    All along the north wall the sentries were answering the Gauls’ windy war cries and challenges with the many rude noises of which Italians are the world’s masters. Darkness and their equipment deprived them of the eloquent gestures that everyone born south of the Po considers to be a part of the national arsenal.
    It was with great relief that I concluded my inspection of the north wall and worked my way down the west wall, where enemy action was far less intense, and then to the south wall where all was quiet once more. At the main gate I descended into the camp and walked up the Via Praetoria to its intersection with the Via Principalis where the main watchfire burned. It was there that the guard relief gathered and there that I found a slave tending the water clock that timed the reliefs.
    “How long until the next relief?” I asked the slave, a grayhaired man whose long service with the legion had earned him this cushy if somewhat sleep-deprived duty.
    “Two hours, sir. They stand four on, four off in this legion. First night watch goes on an hour before sunset, the last is relieved an hour after sunrise.”
    I looked at the water clock. It was a clever Greek contraption like an ornate bronze bucket filled with water. There was a hollow float in the water, which drained out through a small tube in the bottom. As it descended, the float tripped a lever at hourly intervals, and each time the lever would drop abronze ball into a shallow dish of the same metal, producing a loud clang . I had seen the gigantic one in Alexandria, which produces a noise so loud you can hear it all over the city. I could never figure out why, since Alexandrians never pay any attention to what time it is.
    “What do you do in winter, when it freezes?” I asked.
    “Move it closer to the watchfire, so it doesn’t freeze. If the wind’s blowing hard and it freezes anyway, you watch the stars. If it’s cloudy, you just guess.”
    “That must make for some hard feelings,” I mused. “Every man is sure to think he stood a longer watch than the other reliefs.”
    The slave nodded. “Winter’s a bad time this far north, that’s for sure.”
    I went to my tent, where I found Hermes dutifully tending the lamps. He handed me a flask. His arms and shoulders seemed to be recovering, since he could raise the flask waist-high. Its warmth felt good to my chilled hands.
    “It’s that awful vinegar stuff the soldiers drink,” he said apologetically, “but it’ll sure wake you up.” I took a drink and he was courteous enough to wait for my eyes to stop watering before he asked me the inevitable question: “Are those barbarians making all that noise outside?” My tent was close enough to the north wall to hear them clearly.
    “It certainly isn’t reinforcements from Rome. But don’t worry, they’re just entertaining us tonight.”
    “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll worry anyway.” Then he lowered his voice, although he was already speaking in low tones for Hermes. “We’re really in the middle of it, aren’t we? I’ve heard the soldiers talking and