Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  They stopped at a stable where some grooms came to take their horses. The grooms were local Germans, though they had better hygiene and grooming standards than one would expect from “barbarians.”

  “From here we walk,” Statorius said.

  They walked over to what looked like a headquarters building. From there, most of the recruits were escorted off by waiting legionaries. Only four, Artorius, Antoninus, Gavius, and Magnus remained with Sergeant Statorius. He walked them over to another building. This one was L-shaped. It was really long on one side, where Artorius assumed all of the billets were for the men of the century. The shorter end housed the Centurion’s quarters plus their offices. They walked into the outer office, where a soldier was sitting behind a desk, filling out paperwork. The soldier looked up and smiled when he saw Statorius.

  “Look who’s decided to come back to the land of the living,” he said.

  “Good to see you, too, Camillus,” Statorius replied, grasping his hand.

  “So, what have we got here?” Camillus asked.

  “Fresh ones, straight out of the turnip patch. Do you have any idea where we’re putting them?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Camillus said, shuffling through some papers, “this one, Antoninus, is getting assigned to Ostorius’ section. The rest…” he paused, “are going with you.”

  Statorius looked surprised. “I didn’t think I had three vacancies.”

  “Well, that one new kid you had, what was his name, Falerius, I think. Anyway, he took a bad fall during a night march in some rocky country. It busted his leg up pretty good. The doctors said the leg probably would never fully heal, and while he may walk again, marching and fighting were definitely out of the question. So yes, you had three vacancies. Now, you and Ostorius are about the only sections that are at full strength.”

  “We will be once these recruits make it through training. When do they start?”

  “Tomorrow,” another soldier said as he walked in from the outside. He was also dressed in full armor, and he carried a long staff with a knob on the end of it, a symbol of his rank. “Statorius, welcome back,” he said, shaking the decanus’ hand.

  “Valgus,” Statorius said, “good to see you. Lads, this is Valgus, the optio for the Second Century.”

  Valgus nodded in acknowledgment. “Let me get out of my gear, and I’ll take them over to supply to draw their basic issue. In the meantime, why don’t you go bathe and relax for a while? You look like hell,” he said to Statorius.

  “Yes, I definitely need to hit the bathhouse.”

  “I’m already there.” Decimus shouted from the doorway as he left.

  “When do we get to use the bathhouse?” Artorius asked, realizing that his own smell was more than a little ripe.

  Valgus walked over and placed the end of his staff underneath his chin. “Who in the hell gave you permission to speak, recruit? If your scrawny ass makes it through training, and if we actually decide to let you become a legionary, then you can speak. Until then you will shut the fuck up unless spoken to!” The optio gave his staff a slight nudge to emphasize his point.

  Artorius was taken aback that he had called him ‘scrawny,’ given that he had about twice the amount of muscle mass as the optio.

  Without missing a beat, Valgus withdrew his staff and continued calmly, “In answer to your question: later, after you get all your equipment and are settled into your quarters.”

  As soon as Valgus had changed, he took them over to the armory. An older legionary stood behind the counter along with a couple of Gallic assistants. There were shelves and bins of gear and weapons behind him.

  “Line up single file and start trying on your equipment,” he said curtly.

  The first thing they drew was one pair of caligae sandals with cold weather leggings. Next, they were sized for their red tunics, of which they were issued four. Artorius required the largest size of tunic available to fit around his muscular frame. Next, they were each issued a belt with groin protection in the front, a dagger with scabbard, a Gallic-style helmet with cheek guards, and body armor, known as the lorica segmentata. Again, Artorius required the largest size of armor available. The armor was a bit of a puzzle to figure out. It consisted of horizontal metal bands that wrapped around the torso. It also had extra bands for the shoulders and neck. In addition to all of this, they were issued a basket, pick, saw, some wool blankets for their bunks, and a long Y-shaped pole with a leather sack in which to put everything.

  “No other weapons?” Magnus asked, holding his dagger.

  “Until we show you how to use them properly, all you dumbasses will do is hurt yourselves.” Valgus yelled from the door.

  “You’ll get those at the end of training, after you’ve sworn the oath of allegiance,” the veteran legionary answered.

  With great difficulty they managed to haul all of their gear over to their quarters in the century’s main hall. They were shown to a room where there were eight bunks. Five of these showed signs of occupancy. Two legionaries were dozing on their pallets. There was a small table and some chairs in one corner and a small cooking stove in the other. There was also a doorway leading to another room directly behind it. In here, there were a number of shelves and bins. The shelves were set up for the soldiers to stow their body armor, helmet, and weapons. Five shields were standing up against the wall, and a bin in the corner held a number of javelins. Eight other bins were set up to hold all of the soldiers’ entrenching gear. Another was filled with palisade stakes. A door on the far wall of this room opened directly to the outside. Each recruit claimed a bin and a shelf and stored their gear as best they could. About this time, Statorius, Decimus, and one other legionary came in through the outside door. They wore fresh tunics and their hair was still damp from the bathhouse. Statorius’ arm was still in a sling, though he seemed to be refreshed and in a much fairer temper.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found where we live and where all of your equipment goes,” he said.

  “So what happens now?” Artorius asked, nervously.

  “Dinner,” replied Statorius. He then called to one of the legionaries asleep on his bunk. “Hey, Carbo! Get off your fat ass and get started on supper. It’s your turn today.”

  Carbo, the legionary in question, groaned as if in pain and reluctantly rolled off his bunk. He then started the fire underneath the cooking stove.

  “What’s with him?” Magnus asked.

  “A little too much wine last night,” the legionary who came in with Statorius and Decimus said.

  “And a little too much of that trashy tavern wench, Lolia” Decimus added, smiling fiendishly.

  “I told you.” Carbo bellowed from the other room. “It was that tavern bitch and her sister.”

  “Like hell it was,” the soldier piped in, “you were so wiped out last night that you were probably seeing double.”

  Carbo grunted under his breath and started to place some wheat cakes and bacon onto the skillet, all the while grunting about loose women and their sisters.

  “Anyway, lads,” Statorius started, “these are our newest recruits. Artorius, Magnus-who thinks he is a Norse warrior, and Gavius; meet Praxus. Of course, you have already met Decimus, and you’ve now been introduced to Carbo, sort of. The other poor sod passed out over there is Valens. I think he may have had a little too much of Lolia and her ‘sister’ last night.” He paused and then in a low voice asked Praxus, “Lolia doesn’t actually have a sister, does she?”

  “I don’t think so,” Praxus answered.

  “Hmm, anyway, once these new fellows get through the next eight weeks of training and officially become legionaries, we’ll actually have a full crew for once.”

  “The training is eight weeks?” Gavius asked.

  “Don’t worry, it goes by pretty fast,” Praxus said.

  “Plus, you’re too tired and wiped out every night to have any concept of time,” Decimus added with a smile.

  “You’ll be alright,” Statorius sai
d. “Besides, the real beatings don’t begin until weapons drill in a couple of weeks.” Given their ‘warm’ reception at the hands of the decanus and Optio Valgus, the recruits did not like the sound of that.

  “And it never ends either. Especially with Vitruvius as our chief weapons instructor,” Decimus said, pointing to the bruises on the back of Carbo’s hand and forearm.

  “Anyway, let’s eat,” Statorius said as he walked over and elbowed Valens in the ribs.

  Training started early the next day. Statorius woke them all up well before sunrise, and instructed them to don their tunic, helmet, belt, and dagger and fall out outside in front of the barracks. Optio Valgus stood there waiting for them. He was dressed in full armor and he carried his staff with him. Antoninus came out from another section of the barracks to join them.

  “Recruits,” Valgus said, his voice hard, “today you will begin the transformation from civilians into soldiers. The first thing a legionary needs to be is strong in the mind and the body. During the first couple of weeks, we will condition both. To start the day off we will go for a little run.”

  Valgus led them on a jog around the inside of the fortress wall. The pace felt good at first to Artorius. He thought he was in excellent condition, but as they made each turn along the wall the pace quickened. On the final stretch, they were nearly at a sprint. Artorius was gasping for breath by the end of the run. He looked over to see that his fellow recruits fared little better. Though Valgus was laughing out loud, he did not look pleased.

  “By Apollo, how is it that you sorry lot can be winded after a mild jog? You are pathetic. Now get on your feet and start acting like legionaries, instead of like a bunch of whipped puppies.”

  Without giving them time to rest, he had them run over to the parade grounds. There were several heavy balls made out of hide lying off to one side, each weighing about thirty pounds. He paired them up and had them throw the balls back and forth to each other as hard as they could. Artorius found this to his liking. He paired up with Magnus, and he found it amusing that he almost knocked him down several times with the force of his throws. Of course, he soon began to tire and several times dropped the ball. This, in turn, brought a sharp rap across the back from Valgus’ staff. He never said anything, he would simply smack a recruit sharply each time one of them dropped their ball. Finally, when it seemed like none of them could even hold their arms up anymore, he gave the order for them to stop and rest. Artorius’ arms felt weak and his legs wobbly. He was strong, but he did not possess the conditioning he thought.

  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.