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We were issued with the standard military clothing as well as hobnailed boots. We had to make our mark as proof of receipt and the value of the clothing would be deducted off our pay over a period of time.

  We tried on the clothing to ensure that it fit properly.

  It took forever for all of us to be appropriately attired and we lined up for inspection before we left the stores of the quartermaster. Hostilius inspected us.

  He stopped in front of a recruit: “Go get smaller boots, idiot. If you march in those, your feet will be bleeding before we leave camp.”

  He sent a couple more recruits back to exchange some or other garment and once he was satisfied that all was in order, we marched back to our tents.

  “Take down these tents. You are now part of the elite third cohort. You will pitch your tents in the area set aside for my cohort, but you are still too stupid to be integrated with the veterans. We still need to sweat the stupidity out of you.”

  He left us to pitch our tents and prepare our evening meal. The veterans were housed in wooden barracks next to where we erected the tents.

  The most basic skill a legionary must acquire is the military step. It does sound easy, doesn’t it?

  For one person it would be easy. To teach twenty seven recruits to march at a certain pace and maintain formation is much more challenging, especially when most of them are dead on their feet from exhaustion.

  We were woken very early the next morning, as usual, and started the day with a five mile run.

  We returned to the camp, prepared our own breakfasts and then we were back at training.

  We marched for the rest of the day, practising our steps. Slow marching. Double step marching. All manners of marching.

  We rested briefly during midday and then it was back to marching again.

  This went on for weeks, until we could run and march all day without anyone vomiting.

  Centurion Hostilius Proculus did not attend to us every day. Due to his position as lead centurion of the cohort, he had to take care of other responsibilities, but he was the one who directed it all.

  Once we could march properly, we were issued a set of lorica hamata, the chain mail armour of the legionaries and the curved rectangular shield, known as a scutum.

  We now trained to march in full armour with shields. Again, it took time to master the little tricks of the trade. Hostilius showed us how to hold the shield in an overhand grip and where to add extra padding to the undergarment to stop the mail from chafing.

  But he was also relentless and brutal. Beating the stragglers mercilessly with his vine cane and meting out punishment for the merest infringement. I am sure that he would have blended in with the Huns. Those thoughts I wisely kept to myself.

  All of the recruits were chomping at the bit to get proficient with weapons, but Hostilius refused.

  “You will not touch a weapon until you can march perfectly.”

  Two months into our training we had managed to march the required twenty four miles within five hours, without breaking ranks or falling out of step.

  Although he tried to hide it, I could see our centurion was pleased. Not unlike the feeling you get when your favourite hound eventually manages to retrieve the waterfowl you had downed with your bow.

  In any event, nobody tasted his vine cane that day and on our return we went straight to the training field outside the camp. Fifty wooden posts were erected on one side of the field. The posts were a foot in diameter and stood the height of a man.

  We all took wooden training swords from the racks next to the posts as ordered. The wooden swords were exact replicas of the legionary short sword or rather the gladius as we called it.

  These wooden training swords were twice as heavy as the real thing because it was weighted with lead.

  “Choose a partner ladies”, the centurion said and pointed to the posts.

  We spread out so we all had our own post.

  “Show me what you can do.”

  Some of the recruits attacked their post with vigour, slashing and stabbing like men gone mad. Others just stood in front of the posts and executed weak stabs and cuts. There were some who obviously had received basic instruction in the use of the sword and they stepped forward, performed a combination of three or four strokes and stepped back.

  I cut at the post with sloppy slashes and for good measure I mixed in a few thrusts as well.

  Hostilius called an end to the mess and said: “Lucius Domitius, with me.”

  I approached the centurion and he said: “I am going to attack you with slashes, try to defend.”

  “Yes, Centurion”, I replied. He attacked immediately. I parried the strikes, trying to look clumsy.

  We returned to our starting position and without warning he came at me with a perfectly executed thrust to the midriff. My countless hours of training caused my subconscious to take over and I stepped to the right, but at a slight angle, to ensure that the stroke would miss my body. At the same time I allowed his blade to slide along mine. That would allow me to unbalance my opponent and control his blade while I moved in for the killing stroke.

  My waking mind realised too late what I had done, but I tried to correct my mistake and I drew his sword onto my midriff. I took the hit on my armour, which was still very painful.

  I could see Hostilius’s eyes narrowing but he willed back his comment and continued: “Do not waste your energy with wild slashing. That is the barbarian way. A well-aimed thrust is much more difficult to parry and will pierce armour, while a slash will not.”

  “A slash also opens up the attacker’s body to counter attacks, while a thrust does not.”

  “It is not necessary to bury your gladius in your opponent’s body up to the hilt. Give him two inches of the tip and he is out of the fight.”

  He proceeded to show us how a technically correct thrust to the midriff is performed. We spent the rest of the afternoon practising this move, with Hostilius making adjustments to our technique.

  The centurion left early and another centurion oversaw the afternoon’s training.

  We retired early that afternoon, as a reward for our faultless marching.

  Hostilius left instructions that we were to be allowed leave of the camp for half a watch to swim in the river.

  We went as a group and arrived back at the camp clean and refreshed, albeit a bit tired.

  I spent the evening preparing food and talking with my friend Vibius. We enjoyed the basic food and wine rations after the hard training of the day and went to bed early.

  We rose before sunrise, prepared porridge and reported for our morning run led by Centurion Hostilius.

  That morning Hostilius was accompanied by another centurion.

  “Centurion Tullius will accompany you on the run this morning”, he said.

  “Lucius Domitius, you will stay behind.”

  I immediately sensed that something was wrong when I heard my name. The tone of his voice was different. It had a nervous edge to it.

  The replacement centurion trotted off with the recruits in tow.

  I was left standing alone on the parade ground.

  Hostilius said: “Follow me.”

  We walked out of the camp and stopped next to the weapons training area where we had trained at the posts the previous day.

  I was standing at attention and he said: “At ease, legionary.”

  He continued: “I decided to do a bit of investigation yesterday afternoon.”

  “I went to the office of the procurator and I ended up dealing with a filthy little Greek called Alexander. I enquired about a certain Lucius Domitius Aurelianus, to find out whether his father owns a farm in the area.”

  “Let me tell you what the Greek told me. To be more specific, he didn’t tell me anything but he had some very good advice for me, concerning my health. Do you know what he said?”

  It was clear that I was in deep trouble. I just said: “No, Centurion.”

  “He told me that the road I am embarking on ha
s just one outcome, and it ends up with my bloated corpse floating face down in the Danube.”

  “He also asked me to leave his office and never show my face there again.”

  “I have been watching you from the start. You knew that cavalry were approaching our group and you sure as hell knew that it was a ruse. I watched you. You and Vibius were the only ones who didn’t look like they were going to shit their breeks.

  I saw the effort you put in to sound stupid when your literacy was tested. Do you take me for a fool? You speak like the patricians do in Rome!”

  I could see the anger rising in him, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching and his face becoming blood red.

  “Then you try and act like a novice at the posts. You may have fooled your fellow recruits, but I was not born yesterday.”

  “You run and you don’t tire and you look as hard as steel even though you are still a boy.”

  “I can see, that even now, your eyes hold no fear.”

  I had begun to breathe deeply, to calm myself and to be ready for any sudden move.

  His hand went to the hilt of his sword: “I am going to ask you a few questions. Your truthful answers will determine both our destinies.” I nodded and continued to breathe.

  “Beware boy, do not lie to me. I have been a centurion long enough to smell lies a mile away.”

  “I give you permission to speak freely. Nothing you say will ever be shared with anyone else.”

  I nodded and said: “Thank you, Centurion.”

  He scowled and said: “Don’t thank me too soon.”

  “Are you a spy for some or other faction of the Roman Senate?”

  I looked him squarely in the eyes and said: “No, Centurion.”

  “Are you of the patrician class?”

  “Yes, Centurion.”

  “Did you commit a crime and are you hiding from the law?”

  “No, Centurion.”

  “Are you able to kill me at will in a sword fight?”

  “Yes, Centurion.”

  He visibly relaxed but continued to stare into my eyes, as if trying to find some hidden deceit.

  Hostilius walked to the racks containing the equipment and said: “Show me and don’t hold back.”

  He tossed me a wooden gladius of normal weight and attacked me.

  Within a heartbeat he was lying on his face in the dust.

  I extended my hand and helped him up. He accepted.

  He walked back to the starting position and attacked me again, albeit using a different strategy.

  The outcome was the same.

  Hostilius was no fool with the sword, but I had studied under the masters of the sword for years and compared to me, he was as a novice.

  He eventually shook his head and said: “You truly are a master of the sword. I have never seen your equal. Not in the legions and not in Barbaricum.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “I am honour bound not to answer that question, Centurion.”

  He frowned, the anger visibly rising at my rebuke, but then I saw him calm himself.

  “Alright legionary, tell me then, why did you join the legions?”

  “To serve the god of war, Centurion. It is what makes me content.”

  He did not answer immediately, but after a while he said, as if to himself: “I also am a servant of Mars.”

  “Where I come from, Centurion, we call him Arash.”

  Chapter 3 – Weapons instructor

  I followed Hostilius back to camp. He was deep in thought, obviously about what to do with me.

  We were two hundred paces outside the gate when a group of Roman cavalry exited the camp and came trotting down the road.

  We moved aside as they increased their pace and thundered past us.

  I was preoccupied with my future and noticed little.

  I heard the officer of the cavalry call a halt and the whole group reined in, but remained in their formation.

  A young tribune came trotting up to us and dismounted, removing his magnificent plumed helmet.

  Hostilius saluted the tribune and came to attention. Marcus walked over and embraced me.

  “Well met, Lucius, I feel safer already since seeing you here.”

  He looked in Hostilius’s direction who, for the first time since I had met him, appeared utterly confused.

  “My apologies Centurion, but this man saved my life. If you ever make the mistake of tiring of him, send him to me. He is the best horseman in the Empire.”

  “I would like to hear the story, Tribune”, Hostilius replied.

  “My apologies Centurion, but I am oath bound not to.”

  Marcus mounted and replaced his helmet, but before he rode off, he looked at Hostilius, who was still standing at attention.

  “At ease Centurion. Before I go, give me the name of the unit of this legionary.”

  Hostilius relaxed and without pause replied: “He is the weapons trainer of the first century of the third cohort.”

  Marcus nodded, saluted and thundered away on this horse, taking his place at the front of the waiting cavalry.

  My centurion stared at me while shaking his head: “You never told me you were a horseman.”

  “You never asked, Centurion.”

  He scowled and kept walking. “Wait for me in my office”, was all he said.

  I was shown to Hostilius’s quarters by a legionary and his secretary told me to take a seat.

  To exact some revenge he let me wait a full watch, or longer.

  The centurion eventually pitched and I rose, came to attention and saluted.

  He waved me through to his office. Lead centurions of cohorts were important men in the legion. They were well paid, enjoyed the services of a clerk as well as the necessary slaves and servants.

  He sat down behind his rudimentary campaign desk and left me standing at attention, looking straight ahead.

  “I have decided, as you have heard earlier, to appoint you to the first century of the cohort. You will also be the new weapons instructor, as your predecessor was claimed by an unfortunate arrow in the German campaign. It is unheard of to appoint a recruit as a weapons instructor. But the decision is mine and I have spoken.”

  “I have more questions for you.”

  “Are you proficient with the use of the pilum and the bow.”

  “Yes Centurion”, I replied. He scowled and said sarcastically: “How surprising.”

  “Which is your favoured weapon?”

  “The bow, Centurion.”

  “With which other weapons are you familiar?”

  “I have also trained with the heavy two handed cavalry spear, the throwing spear, the long handed battle axe and the lasso, Centurion. Mainly from horseback, though”, I added as an afterthought.

  Again he looked me in the eye, trying to find some deceit.

  Eventually he looked away and said: “Good, collect your belongings and report to me.”

  Less than a quarter of a watch had passed when I followed Hostilius to meet the members of my new contubernium.

  “Three of the legionaries of this contubernium had died during our recent campaign”, Hostilius explained. “When the recruits are fully trained, others may be added to bring it back to full strength.”

  I was on my way to become part of the first century of the cohort. Traditionally, the first century of a cohort contains the best fighters. Only the best veterans are advanced to this century, normally from the second century. These are the men who are in the front ranks, the ones who face the charge of the barbarians and survive to tell the tale.

  It was late in the afternoon and the men had already retired to sit around their camp fires. As we approached, the five men immediately jumped to attention and saluted.

  “At ease”, Hostilius said.

  He pointed at me and said: “Meet your new tent mate, recruit Lucius Domitius. I suggest you be careful, he is a killer.”

  He shifted his gaze to me and said: “Report to me first thing in the morn
ing, Domitius.”

  Hostilius abruptly turned around and walked away, leaving me with the five older men.

  The eldest of the legionaries stood and clasped my arm: “Well met youngster, I am the decanus of the tent party, but you may call me Felix.” He smiled and continued: “Because you don’t get close to retirement age if you are not one lucky bastard!”

  Felix pointed at a small framed man and said: “This is Pumilio, but do not be fooled by his size, heh.”

  I grasped Pumilio’s arm and I felt that he had a grip of iron for such a small man.

  Next in line was a giant. He was as broad as he was tall. He had a generally mean and dirty look to him. As I approached he stood and smiled disarmingly. “Hello Lucius, I am Ursa. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Welcome to our family.” I smiled back while he clasped my forearm with a paw reaching all the way around. He obviously tried not to hurt me and didn’t squeeze too hard.

  “This one is called Silentus”, he said as a thin legionary of around thirty summers extended his hand to grip my forearm. Silentus nodded and sat down again.

  “Don’t mind him”, Felix said. “He don’t talk to us either, but he is useful in a fight”. Silentus scowled and Felix winked at me.

  Last but not least, this is Bellus. Bellus smiled a perfect smile with perfect teeth and clasped my forearm. “Well met legionary Lucius Domitius. Do not be concerned, you will get a nickname soon.” He pointed to a spot next to the fire and said: “Put down your pack and have a seat.”

  I sat down and Ursa poured me a beaker of cheap wine from a skin. He refilled the other beakers, raised his in the air and said: “To our new brother!”

  I nearly choked on the terrible wine, but I managed to keep it down.

  Felix said: “Lucius, do not worry overmuch. All of us joined the legion for some or other obscure reason. Some of us talk about it”, he gestured to Silentus, “and some of us prefer not to. None of us will ask. It is up to you whether you wish to share.”

  “Just remember that you are now our brother. Your survival depends upon us as our survival depends upon you. We share chores equally and fairly. It is not standard procedure to assign a new recruit to the first century. Actually, I have never seen it happen until today, but we trust Centurion Hostilius. He has saved our lives countless times, although he can be a mean bastard. If he says that you are a killer, I would rather have you on our side.”