few of these in your time.”
“Yeah,” Joseph replied, a little gloomily. “This very road, if you want the truth.”
“Really? I wish I’d been stationed here then. Or in Rome. I never really got to know that side of my organic heritage, you know. The Company sent me straight into Ireland as soon as I graduated, and I was stuck there for the next few centuries,” Lewis said. “By the time I was finally stationed in England, Roman Britain was long gone. I’ve always rather regretted that.”
“You like army life?” Joseph unwrapped an Aero bar and took a bite.
“Well, no—at least, I don’t suppose I would. Literary Preservationists don’t see a lot of that sort of assignment,” Lewis said. “But, you know, all those legions tramping through the mists, the sort of thing you imagine when you listen to Respighi’s music. It has a certain romantic appeal.”
“Respighi should have done some time carrying a hundred-pound pack through Cumbria, that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Joseph. “And your feet froze all the time in those damn caligae. What brain trust came up with an open-toed combat boot? Goddam slaves got better shoes. And of course the poor auxiliaries died like flies from the cold, because we had guys from Africa and Hispania sent up here, naturally, and ex-Visigoths sent down to patrol villages in Egypt. Military intelligence.”
“Eat the other Aero bar, for God’s sake.” Lewis shifted gears and sped around a lorry trundling Japanese sewing machines to a minor industrial town.
“Okay, okay. Let’s see, what can I say that’s positive about the Roman army? Good engineers, but everybody knows that. Lots of incentives, and they really took care of their veterans. Had to; most stayed in the service until they were gray and toothless, which wasn’t actually all that long, given the life expectancy in those days.” Joseph balled up the wrapper and stuffed it in the Austin’s map pocket after looking around vainly for an ashtray.
“I suppose I shouldn’t ask further.” Lewis sighed. “Not if I want to keep any illusions about the blessings of the Pax Romana with all those centrally heated public buildings and orderly little towns.”
“A little Rome went a long way, believe me,” Joseph said.
Lewis pulled over to let a speeding Jaguar pass him. “Now—it’s funny, I’ve known for years you’d been a centurion, but it’s only just occurred to me to wonder—what on earth would one of us be doing in
any
army? How could you possibly have dealt with being on a battlefield?”
“I ducked a lot,” Joseph told him. “And as for what I was doing there, you don’t need to know.”
“Ah,” said Lewis, nodding sagely, and appeared to concentrate very closely on the road for the next few miles.
No, seriously, can you tell me what you were doing?
The Company needed an observer to fill in an event shadow. Iwas with the Ninth Hispania, operating out of Eboracum. York, I mean
.
The Ninth? The famous lost legion?
Yeah
.
And the Company planted you among them so you could find out what happened to it?
That’s right
.
But I thought it turned out they were never lost after all. Didn’t someone discover they were simply transferred to Cappadocia or somewhere?
Those were the replacement guys. Haven’t you been in this business long enough to know that most questions have to be answered with yes
and
no? There was a good reason the legend of the lost legion got started
.
Well?
We got sent on a stupid march through the Pennines, and about a million Brigantes came down on our heads. It wasn’t as bad as when Quintilius Varus got massacred, but it was bad enough. They cut us into little pieces. All except me, of course
. Joseph unwrapped the other Aero bar and ate it in three bites.
That’s all?
It didn’t take long, either, the Ninth was already in such bad shape
.
But . . . why were no remains ever found? No rusting armor, no spears, no coins?
Why do you
“Yeah,” Joseph replied, a little gloomily. “This very road, if you want the truth.”
“Really? I wish I’d been stationed here then. Or in Rome. I never really got to know that side of my organic heritage, you know. The Company sent me straight into Ireland as soon as I graduated, and I was stuck there for the next few centuries,” Lewis said. “By the time I was finally stationed in England, Roman Britain was long gone. I’ve always rather regretted that.”
“You like army life?” Joseph unwrapped an Aero bar and took a bite.
“Well, no—at least, I don’t suppose I would. Literary Preservationists don’t see a lot of that sort of assignment,” Lewis said. “But, you know, all those legions tramping through the mists, the sort of thing you imagine when you listen to Respighi’s music. It has a certain romantic appeal.”
“Respighi should have done some time carrying a hundred-pound pack through Cumbria, that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Joseph. “And your feet froze all the time in those damn caligae. What brain trust came up with an open-toed combat boot? Goddam slaves got better shoes. And of course the poor auxiliaries died like flies from the cold, because we had guys from Africa and Hispania sent up here, naturally, and ex-Visigoths sent down to patrol villages in Egypt. Military intelligence.”
“Eat the other Aero bar, for God’s sake.” Lewis shifted gears and sped around a lorry trundling Japanese sewing machines to a minor industrial town.
“Okay, okay. Let’s see, what can I say that’s positive about the Roman army? Good engineers, but everybody knows that. Lots of incentives, and they really took care of their veterans. Had to; most stayed in the service until they were gray and toothless, which wasn’t actually all that long, given the life expectancy in those days.” Joseph balled up the wrapper and stuffed it in the Austin’s map pocket after looking around vainly for an ashtray.
“I suppose I shouldn’t ask further.” Lewis sighed. “Not if I want to keep any illusions about the blessings of the Pax Romana with all those centrally heated public buildings and orderly little towns.”
“A little Rome went a long way, believe me,” Joseph said.
Lewis pulled over to let a speeding Jaguar pass him. “Now—it’s funny, I’ve known for years you’d been a centurion, but it’s only just occurred to me to wonder—what on earth would one of us be doing in
any
army? How could you possibly have dealt with being on a battlefield?”
“I ducked a lot,” Joseph told him. “And as for what I was doing there, you don’t need to know.”
“Ah,” said Lewis, nodding sagely, and appeared to concentrate very closely on the road for the next few miles.
No, seriously, can you tell me what you were doing?
The Company needed an observer to fill in an event shadow. Iwas with the Ninth Hispania, operating out of Eboracum. York, I mean
.
The Ninth? The famous lost legion?
Yeah
.
And the Company planted you among them so you could find out what happened to it?
That’s right
.
But I thought it turned out they were never lost after all. Didn’t someone discover they were simply transferred to Cappadocia or somewhere?
Those were the replacement guys. Haven’t you been in this business long enough to know that most questions have to be answered with yes
and
no? There was a good reason the legend of the lost legion got started
.
Well?
We got sent on a stupid march through the Pennines, and about a million Brigantes came down on our heads. It wasn’t as bad as when Quintilius Varus got massacred, but it was bad enough. They cut us into little pieces. All except me, of course
. Joseph unwrapped the other Aero bar and ate it in three bites.
That’s all?
It didn’t take long, either, the Ninth was already in such bad shape
.
But . . . why were no remains ever found? No rusting armor, no spears, no coins?
Why do you
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