“Vercingetorix is a Gallic name,” Vix snapped. “Not Latin. Means ‘great warrior king,’ I’ll have you know. There was a famous warrior king in Gaul named Vercingetorix—”

“Who got himself by defeated by Julius Caesar, spent years wallowing in prison, and was finally strangled to death,” Titus pointed out. “How well-omened of a name is it?”

“Well, it still doesn’t mean slightly.” Vix sounded defensive. “Nobody’s ever called me slightly anything unless they wanted a fight.”

“At least it’s a short name,” Titus offered in apology. “Better than Titus Aurelius Fulvus Boionius Arrius Antoninus.”

Vix grinned through the dark; Titus barely caught the gleam of his teeth. “How did you get saddled with all that, Tribune?”

“Titus after my father.” Titus supposed this wasn’t a proper conversation to be having—A certain distance must be maintained between legionaries and their officers, the tribunes were instructed often enough by the legate—but on a rainy night in Germania with blood trickling down the back of his head and mud sticking to both of them head to toe, legion etiquette didn’t seem to matter much. “Aurelius because it’s the family name—the Aurelii. Fulvus because it’s my father’s second name, and why not be as confusing as possible by having two of us. Boionius, that was after a rich uncle my mother was hoping might leave me some money. Antoninus, another family name. Arrius, that’s supposed to be from my mother’s side of the family, but I think it really came from the fact that my father loved the gladiatorial games. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him, but there was a famous gladiator years back named Arius the Barbarian—”

Vix let out a shout of laughter.

“What?” Titus looked at him quizzically as they rounded the curve in the rough road and came back to the camp.

“Nothing, Tribune,” Vix chortled. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday. I need to make a report to the centurion now, but you’d better go back to your tent. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s wet out.”

CHAPTER 9

VIX

The following morning dawned sunny and rain-washed when we mounted up. Tribune Six-Names rode ahead with the centurion and the optio, very grand again in his plumes and red cloak, and I assumed that our odd informality of the previous night had been banished by daylight and the proper order of things. But just a half mile down the road, he twisted in his saddle and beckoned me to ride up on his right side. He was still scrawny for his height, and his armor positively creaked with newness, but his face was friendly.