Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (10 page)

Valgus
ordered them to form up and marched them back over to the barracks. He ushered them into the main office. Each of them had just sat down when Signifier Camillus walked in.

“Good morning, recruits,” he said
. “Today you will learn a bit about the history of the Twentieth Legion, our rank structure, and where your place will be within her.

“The Twentieth was first mustered more than forty-six years ago by the Divine Augustus. It was first stationed in Hispania and took part in the campaigns against the Cantabrians. Later it served under Tiberius in the
Pannonia insurrection. During this campaign, the legion found itself cut off and surrounded. In spite of heavy odds, they managed to rout the enemy and make their way back to friendly lines.” He continued to lecture them on the history of their legion for a couple hours, at the end of which, in walked a man they knew immediately to be their centurion.

“On your feet!” Camillus called out, as he immediately stood up.

“At ease,” the centurion said.

On Camillus’ cue, they all took their seats.

The centurion was not very old, perhaps thirty. There was something about his demeanor, though, that commanded respect. He was not overly large in the frame, but one could tell just by his very aura he possessed incredible strength. His face bore several scars, as did his hands and forearms. Artorius thought,
he probably has many more body scars, though I doubt if any are on his back.
He also carried a short vine stick in his hand. Like the pole that Valgus carried, it was one of the symbols of his rank.

“Men,
I am Centurion Platorius Macro, Commanding Officer of the Second Century. Currently there are seventy soldiers assigned to this century. Once you get through your training, that number will raise to seventy-four. You may or may not have heard about the upcoming spring campaign, and right now, we need every soldier we can muster. Therefore, your training will be accelerated in order that you may be able to accompany us. However, do not think this means your training will be any easier, or that you will be given less than the full measure of what you are expected to learn.

“I expect my
legionaries to be fit, both physically as well as mentally. I need soldiers who can make tough decisions instantly
on the battlefield and be physically able to carry them out repeatedly. I accept only the highest standards of discipline and conduct while you are on duty. In addition, know that I will hold you accountable for all of your actions, be they right or wrong.” He smacked the vine stick across the palm of his hand to emphasize the point. “Optio Valgus, they’re all yours,” he said as he left the room.

“Alright recruits, head back to your billets. Supper should be waiting for you. I also highly recommend that you each hit the bathhouse tonight; I don’t want you stinking up my parade field in the morning
.”

Artorius looked outside and saw that the sun was setting. He did not realize how late in the day it was. He
remembered
they had not eaten all day, and he was very hungry. When they arrived back at their billets, he saw Statorius and the others had already made their dinner.

“Hey, here’s our babes back from their first day of training,” Praxus said as he motioned them towards where their food was cooking. There was the usual staple of wheat cakes, but there were also strips of meat, fresh fruit, vegetables, and wine. Artorius grabbed his tin
plate and immediately started to pile on the food. He looked down and saw that his hand was trembling; he was so tired and hungry. Just being able to eat would be
a joy and a relief.

“That’s one nice thing about the Roman army, you never go hungry,” said Valens, who was looking a lot more lively than the night before.

“Could have fooled us.” retorted Magnus. “This is the first we’ve eaten all day.”

“
Oh, I don’t think that was intentional,” replied Statorius with a grin. “But with your training having to be accelerated, they have to cram a lot more into each day to make the most of it. I guess today they just forgot about breakfast.”

“You mean they don’t intentionally starve us to make us stronger?” Gavius asked.

“What a stupid concept,” Praxus retorted.

“Come off it, man, this isn’t Sparta
.” Carbo piped in. He also was looking better than he did the night before. He was a bit pudgier than the other legionaries were and was red in the face, as if out of breath. He definitely did not look the part of a legionary.

“I thought the Spartans were the toughest
people in the ancient world,” Gavius said.

“They were overrated,” Statorius said through a mouth full of food.

“You’re not kidding,” Carbo continued. “I mean, think about it. They starved their soldiers because they thought it would make them tougher. They even forced them to go on long marches without so much as shoes. Their only means of motivation was through fear. You screw up once and they cut your throat. Talk about an army with morale problems. Now look at us. Yes, there is the discipline that is required if we are going to succeed in battle. Believe me, I have felt the centurion’s vine stick more times than I can remember. However, there are also many benefits of being a soldier. Our pay, even at the lowest ranks, is certainly no meager wage. Moreover, it is consistent. Plus shares of any plunder.  And they feed us pretty damned well.”

“Some
of us more than others,” Praxus said, as he poked Carbo in the stomach.

“
Hey, feed on my ass, you scrawny little sewage rat.” Carbo retorted as everyone laughed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Flaccus, the
tesserarius walked in. “Statorius, just wanted to let you know your section has rampart repair tomorrow.”

“Where?” Statorius asked.

“Over by the North wall, there’s a section of wall on the rampart that’s falling apart. Vitruvius’ gang took care of all the stone cutting today.”

“No problem. We’ll get it done.”

As soon as Flaccus left, Artorius asked, “Do we get to help you with this detail tomorrow?”

“No,” Statorius replied
. “You get to do more physical conditioning and training with Optio Valgus tomorrow. No need to worry, you will get plenty of time to build walls and roads and dig ditches soon enough. Alright, lads, it looks like we all have an early day tomorrow, so we’d better get some rest.”

Soon the lamps were out and everyone was sound asleep. Artorius lay on his bunk thinking of all that transpired over the last few days. He had made it to the
legion. However, he was not, officially, a soldier yet. He hoped that his training would go fast. The sooner the training was over, the sooner they would be on campaign; and the sooner he could have his revenge.

The next morning they stood tall outside the barracks as Optio Valgus walked up and inspected each one in turn. When he got to Magnus he came unglued.

“Recruit, why in the hell have you shown up for formation with a dirty tunic?”
he shouted into Magnus’ ear.

Magnus elected to wear the same tunic he had
worn the day before, and it was covered in sweat and dirt.

“Did
I not tell you not to come stinking up my parade field?”

“I thought since we were going to be getting dirty this morning anyway, no sense in...”
His reply was cut short by a hard smack across the back from the optio’s staff.

“I don’t care if you plan on crawling through pig shit, you will come to my formations washed and with a clean tunic
. Do you understand me, recruit?”
He gave Magnus another blow across the back to emphasize the point.

Magnus stifled a yelp of pain.
“Yes, sir!” As he stood there, shaken, Valgus stuck his face next to his ear.

“So what are you waiting for?” he whispered. “Get out of here and into a fresh tunic.
Move!”

Artorius was
amazed to see how quickly Magnus was able to run back into the barracks and change into one of his clean tunics. It didn’t seem like even a minute passed before his friend was standing tall before the optio again, albeit looking a little sheepish. Valgus acted as if the whole incident had never happened.

The first week of training consisted of physical
training and classes on the principles of Roman warfare. Classroom study was one thing; it would be a different matter to have to execute it first hand. For that, they needed to learn individual weapons drill.

Sergeant Vitruvius was an imposing figure to say the least. He was slightly taller than average and completely bald. His muscles were even bigger than Artorius’, and they looked carved out of stone. Unlike most veterans, his body was conspicuously devoid of any noticeable scars, and he had a voice that could carry over long distances without having to yell. He was a complete professional, taking his assigned duty as
chief weapons instructor very seriously. Rome taught her soldiers to fight in lines of battle as a team. It was Vitruvius’ job to make certain that every soldier on that line was an unstoppable killing machine. He possessed a reputation for being extremely strong, incredibly fast with the gladius, and he never missed with the javelin. Every stroke with his weapon was deliberate and precise. In short, he was the perfect killer, and none was better suited to teach men how to kill each other.

“Everyone needs to grab a training shield and gladius from the cart and follow me,” he said to the recruits, pointing out the equipment cart to them.

It was early in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to warm the cold earth.

Artorius picked up the wicker shield and wooden sword and was somewhat surprised. Even with his superior strength, they still felt unusually heavy. He shrugged and followed the instructor to where numerous six-foot poles were sticking out of the ground. They had lines painted horizontally on them at the neck and hip level, and all looked beaten and worn.

“First thing you need to do is assume a good fighting stance,” Vitruvius started. “It must allow for maximum mobility, balance, and power, while at the same time it must be comfortable. Take your shield in your left hand and your gladius in your right. Place your feet about shoulder width apart with your right leg slightly back.” He demonstrated and everyone followed his lead.

“Now
, on a service shield there is a metal boss right in the center. Can anyone tell me what that is for?”

“Is it to protect the hand?” Antoninus asked.

“That’s part of it,” Vitruvius answered, “but can anyone tell me its primary use?”

“To smash the enemy in the face,” Artorius said.

“Absolutely right,” Vitruvius replied. “When you make contact with your opponent, the first thing you want to do is throw him off balance. In order to do that, you smack him with the boss on your shield. Now remember, when you punch somebody, you do not want to just use your arm. No matter how strong you are, you’re not going to get maximum effect.” He punched the pole hard to demonstrate. It hardly budged.

“The real source of power,” he continued, “lies in the hips. When you punch, turn your hips into it and draw your power from there. Like this
.” With that he slammed his shield into the pole. It rocked violently back and forth, and the recruits thought he might uproot it. “Now you try it.”

The recruits all smacked their shields into the poles. Some found it awkward at first. Vitruvius would check each recruit in turn and make corrections as necessary. For Artorius
, it seemed to come naturally. He felt the pole move underneath the force of his blows. He tried to think it was a Germanic warrior; perhaps even the one who killed his brother. He became incensed as he slammed it repeatedly; sweat breaking out on his forehead as he concentrated. He did not even notice Vitruvius was standing next to him until the Sergeant grabbed his shield and almost pulled him down.

“Good power, good intensity. Need to be quicker on the retraction,” Vitruvius told him. He then addressed the group, “Make sure that when you strike, either with the shield or the gladius
, you pull back quickly. Your first shot may not throw your opponent off balance right away. If he has an axe or some kind of hooked weapon, he can snag your shield and yank it out of your hand. Or worse, he can pull you off the line completely.”