He was awake, his eyes wide and bright with fever, and not a little fear. “Salve, Primus Pilus,” he said hoarsely. “Forgive me for not coming to intente.”
“You’re on report for that,” I said with a smile, pulling up a stool to sit next to his cot.
His breathing was shallow and raspy, and in truth, I was amazed that he was alive at all. His lower leg to just above the knee was black, oozing pus that was so dark green that it was almost brown, and I could clearly see the livid red streaks on his upper thigh that marked the fingers of rot steadily marching through his body, laying waste just as thoroughly and mercilessly as we had in Gaul.
Clearing my throat, I began. “Didius, I've spoken to the physician. The only way you're going to survive is if you allow him to take your leg, and to do it now.”
“Noooo.” His head thrashed back and forth, his tone so pitiful and wracked with fear that I found it impossible to remember that for many years Didius and I had been bitter enemies.
Putting my hand on his arm, I looked him in the eye, saying firmly, “Yes. This is what must be done, Didius, or you will die.”
His mouth twisted bitterly, then he gave a weak bark that I knew passed for his laugh. “What does it matter if I die now? If he takes my leg, I’m out of the Legion and will have to live by the charity of others. I’ll be dead in a couple months in that case, so what does it matter if it’s now?”
I listened to him, not sure what to say. While Didius was right in that he would not be allowed to remain in the Legions, and that he had not finished his enlistment so therefore was not technically entitled to the pension and land that was due all of us, Didius had been marching as long as I had. He had profited from all the years in Gaul, Britannia, Greece, and Africa just as I had, not to mention the bounty that Caesar had paid out at his triumphs. It was inconceivable to me that he was destitute, and I said as much.
For a long moment, he said nothing, his expression one that I could not immediately decipher. When he spoke, I realized that he was embarrassed. “I. . I lost most everything that I was paid over the years.” He darted a look at me, then his eyes shifted away. “The dice haven’t rolled my way lately. Fortuna’s turned her back on me, that’s for sure.” He waved his hand in disgust at his rotting leg. “If this isn’t proof of that, I don’t know what is. Just a few weeks short of our enlistment ending, and this happens.”
I sat there completely mystified. Here Didius was telling me that he had lost most of his fortune gambling, and that did not make sense. “Didius, that can’t be true.” I shook my head. “I can’t count all the times that you told all of us who would listen about how much you had won, either at dice or tables, or whatever.”
“Primus Pilus, you haven’t spent much time at our fire in a long time,” he said quietly. “That was certainly true at one time, but that hasn’t been the case for a while now.”
“What changed?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
My question elicited a rueful laugh. “I stopped cheating.” I stared at him, sure that I had misheard, but he only shrugged, looking away as he continued talking. “I just got tired of looking over my shoulder all the time. When you're gulling men, you have to be alert constantly and careful to hide your tracks. It wears a man down after a while, and I just got tired of it. So,” he looked up at me, “I decided to go straight. Turns out that I was a much better cheater than I am an honest gambler.”
I could not help laughing. For a moment, he scowled at me, then gave a weak chuckle. I put my hand on his shoulder then said quietly, “Didius, you don’t have to worry. I'll talk with Caesar and make sure that you get your full pension, and I'll contribute enough to make sure that you'll never go hungry or want for a roof over your head. But,” I pointed at him to emphasize my point, “you have to swear on Jupiter’s Stone that you'll quit gambling.”
Tears welled in his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly, but I pretended that I did not notice, and his voice was hoarser than before as he said, “I swear it, Primus Pilus.” He reached his hand out, so I grasped his forearm, neither of us saying anything for a moment, then he let out a rasping breath and said, “Well, Primus Pilus, tell that Greek bloodsucker to get in here and do what he has to do. Might as well get it over with.”
I stood and wished Didius luck, then went to find the physician, relaying Didius’ permission for the amputation to proceed. If he was surprised, he did not show it, instead turning to one of the orderlies, telling him to make the necessary preparations.
“How long before he can have visitors again?” I asked, and he considered.
“Provided he survives, he should be able to see visitors in three or four days, though I don’t know what frame of mind he will be in then.”
I nodded that I understood, thanked the doctor while handing him a bag of coin over and above what I had already paid him and returned to my tent, shaking my head. Didius had gone straight, I mused as I walked down the street towards the Legion area. Maybe there was hope for all of us.
~ ~ ~ ~
The amputation went smoothly, or as smoothly as such an operation can go, I suppose, because Didius survived. He only had a few inches of stump left, and he was still very sick for longer than the doctor had foreseen, but the immediate danger was over. He would remain in the hospital tent for the next several weeks, as life in the camp went on as normal. About a week after the garrison attempted its breakout, a scroll was launched towards our lines from the town walls. When it was retrieved, it was from Munacius, offering his services to Caesar along with the surrender of the town. Caesar mulled this over for a day before accepting, so the town of Ategua became ours, where we hailed Caesar as Imperator once more.
~ ~ ~ ~
Gnaeus, having lost Ategua, began to withdraw southeast towards Ucubi in order to shorten his line of supply, which we had been disrupting with some success, while securing the town itself. Ucubi was south of the Salsum River, the walls of the town about three miles from the riverbank, so Gnaeus had his men construct an earthworks between the town and river in order to stop us from enveloping Ucubi the same way we had Ategua. We followed shortly thereafter, arriving on the northern bank of the river, making camp directly across from the Pompeian earthworks. Once camp was constructed, Caesar put us to work pushing across the river, building a series of redoubts that protected the riverbank while allowing passage back and forth across the river, which was shallow and had a rock bottom. As we worked, Gnaeus seemed more concerned with exacting reprisals against those he suspected of having Caesarian sympathies among the townspeople. Encouraging the citizens to inform on each other, he executed some 74 citizens who were identified by their neighbors as being aligned with us. What Gnaeus did at Ucubi was nothing new. In fact, one of the most powerful weapons we had were the actions of Gnaeus Pompey and his generals towards the local Roman citizens, who the Pompeians seemed intent on alienating and brutalizing, just as Scipio had in Africa. Not just the civilians bore the brunt of what I have to believe were their frustrations at being constantly defeated by Caesar. We were accepting deserters into our ranks in ever-growing numbers, and even taking into account the typical amount of exaggeration that a deserter will voice about their horrible treatment at the hands of their officers, conditions in the Pompeian army had to have been grim. I believe that the state of his army forced Gnaeus to pull up stakes yet again, continuing what had become a retreat, just about a week after we encamped on the river’s opposite bank. This time, Gnaeus continued his easterly track, though moving further north to another fortress town called Soricaria, which was located farther down the river from Ucubi, but on the northern bank instead of the southern. This proved to be yet another mistake, because Gnaeus had ordered that the supplies kept at Ucubi be transferred to a fort about six miles almost directly south of Soricaria. I can only assume his reasoning was that he believed Caesar would stay on the northern side of the river to concentrate his forces on the Pompeian army at Soricaria, but as usual, young Gnaeus outthought himself. Perhaps he did not believe that Caesar would learn that his supply base was being moved to this fort, called “Aspavia” for the small village located there. Yet I find that hard to credit, given that it had to have been clear in the preceding months that Caesar knew a great deal of young Pompey’s movements and plans, which he consistently thwarted. Now, instead of following the Pompeian army, we struck south to head towards the fort. For once, Gnaeus acted quickly, no doubt spurred on by the knowledge of the disaster that would befall his army if we captured his supply base. His hold on his army was now tenuous, as he was forced to resort to blatant lies, going so far as to take slaves, dressing them up in the uniforms of some of our dead to parade them in front of his men, claiming that they were deserters. Daily deputations were coming to Caesar from towns and cities, both in the region and in other parts of Hispania, claiming their loyalty to him. We learned from them that Gnaeus was sending letters to these locations where he claimed that, in fact, Caesar’s army was trying to avoid battle and not the other way around. One of the men belonging to a deputation from one of the towns even brought the letter that Gnaeus had sent to their town, which Caesar read aloud to us at our morning briefing. By the time he was finished, most of us were doubled up with laughter, tears streaming from our eyes as we listened to the fantastic claims that Gnaeus was making. His army, according to him, was only growing restive because they so longed to lay into us, while we were cowering like dogs because Caesar’s army was now full of raw troops. Gnaeus was claiming that the bulk of the army consisting of us Spaniards had demanded that our enlistments be ended and that we had returned to our nearby homes, leaving Caesar with several Legions worth of raw tiros that he had basically pressed into service against their will. The fact that this was indeed the exact thing that Gnaeus was doing made his claims even more outrageous, further proof just how far above his head command of an army actually was. The only thing that Gnaeus had been close to correct about was that the 10th’s enlistment could now be counted in weeks, it being late March by this time, but nobody had gone home. Now Gnaeus was forced to confront this army of “raw” troops because he had effectively allowed Caesar and the army to get behind him, again.