by James Mace
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.”
They continued to practice slamming their shields into their wooden opponents until Vitruvius was satisfied. All the recruits were panting, out of breath. Artorius was breathing heavy, but the exertion felt good. After a few strikes, he let his shield bottom rest on the ground as he caught his breath. He had no sooner set his shield down when he felt a hard sharp pain as he was struck across the back.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Centurion Macro screamed into his ear, his vine stick held high for another blow.
“Sorry, sir, I just got tired and thought…” Artorius began. Before he could continue, the centurion smacked him across the back of the legs. Pain shot through them and he almost fell to his knees.
“You thought what? That it would be all right if you decide to take a break while a barbarian skewers you like a wild boar? Get your shield back up and strike your target.”
Artorius immediately brought his shield back up and started punching at the stake again. His arm ached, and he was dripping with sweat, yet he dared not set his shield down, lest he incur the centurion’s wrath again. He heard a hard slap and a yelp as he caught another recruit committing the same crime. Their instructor seemed to take the centurion’s beating of recruits as a matter of course.
“Alright, now that you’ve knocked your opponent off balance with a blow from the shield, the next step is to move in and kill the bastard as quickly as possible,” Vitruvius explained. “If you look, you’ll see that the gladius has a sharp point to it and a short blade. That is because it is designed for close combat, and it is primarily used for stabbing. Most barbarians that have swords, like to heft them in an overhead slash. Such fighting styles are practically useless. Anyone know why?”
“Because it shows your intent and gives the enemy time to defend against it,” Magnus answered.
“It is slow and less likely to hit,” Gavius responded.
“It leaves their body wide open, thereby they are more easily killed with a rapid stab,” Artorius said.
“All correct,” Vitruvius said, obviously pleased. “Recruit Antoninus, step up here.”
Antoninus came forward and faced the others.
“Now raise your sword arm like you were going to slash.”
Antoninus did so.
“If you look,” Vitruvius said, “you’ll notice that with his arm up, his torso is stretched out, and his body is wide open for attack. Plus, it puts him off balance.” With that, he shoved Antoninus to the ground with little effort. He then extended his hand and helped the recruit get back to his feet.
“As I said, the primary use of the gladius is as a stabbing weapon. You rattle your opponent with a blow from your shield; you finish him with a quick stab to his vitals. The ideal spot is just below the ribcage. If you can strike him underneath the ribs and up at an angle, your blade will go right to his heart or lungs. You want to avoid stabbing directly into the chest, as there is the probability of your blade ending up stuck in the ribs. The abdomen and bladder region also work. Usually these areas are not immediately fatal, however your opponent will be out of action, and he will die soon enough. For a quick kill, you can also aim for the throat or just beneath the jaw. If you cannot get a shot in at the vitals, aim for the legs. A quick stab to the thigh will put him on the ground quickly. Now, you try it. Remember, just as with a shield punch, draw your power from the hips. Alright, go ahead and do it.”
Vitruvius and Macro watched as the recruits went to work stabbing away at the
wooden poles. Artorius again visualized a hulking German in front of him. He imagined the sheer agony he would put the man in when he stabbed him in the guts, or the throat, or underneath the ribs and into the lungs. Once he was satisfied that things were progressing well, the centurion left.
“Hold your weapon firmly, but do not keep a death grip on it,” Vitruvius told the recruits as they practiced. “Your weapons should become an extension of your arms. They should become a part of you.” After a while, he had the recruits cease in their exercises.
“Alright, you’ve started to grasp the most rudimentary basics of individual combat. Are there any questions before I release you for your afternoon meal?” Vitruvius asked.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Magnus said. “I understand that battles can sometimes last for hours. I also understand the need for us to be in extremely good physical shape. However, these weapons seem to be excessively heavy.”
Vitruvius smiled. “Is there anyone else who thinks that their training weapons are excessively heavy?”
There was a pause before he continued. The recruits did not want to appear weak in front of the Sergeant. “Understand that, yes, the training weapons are heavier than service weapons, twice as heavy, in fact. You are right, Recruit Magnus. Conditioning is extremely important for a legionary. If you can sustain the fight using these training weapons, then using your actual service weapons will come easy. That is it for weapons drill today. Next will be your afternoon meal, followed by classes on century battle drill, and then more physical training with Optio Valgus.”
That afternoon they went over the basics of maneuvering a century as part of a larger element, the Cohort. Centurion Macro taught these classes himself, since he was the one who would direct such maneuvers on the battlefield. The recruits then returned to the practice field, where the centurion had a large parchment stretched out on an easel. There were numerous diagrams drawn on it.
“While individual fighting prowess is important, it will do you no good if you cannot work together and fight as a team,” the centurion began. “The lowest element of any legion is the section, which consists of eight soldiers. Ten sections make up a century. When deployed for battle, the century will usually form up on line, facing the enemy. The centurion always takes the position at the right of the line and in the front rank if the century is in column formation. The optio takes the position at the extreme left or at the rear of the formation if the century is in a column. Their job is to make certain that the century holds the line, stays in formation, and executes properly. The signifier will position himself next to the centurion. He is the one who will relay all signals and orders.
“The cohort consists of six centuries. Normally, it is the smallest unit that will ever operate independently. Standard battle formation for the cohort is centuries on line, one behind the next. Soldiers in each rank will be staggered with those to their front. This will ensure proper overlapping coverage and make it easier when the cohort conducts a passage-of-lines.”
“Excuse me, sir, but what is a passage-of-lines?” Magnus asked.
The centurion didn’t miss a beat in explaining. “You may recall that the old Greek phalanx consisted of many ranks, often sixteen or more, that were stacked one behind the next. Each phalanx would crash into the other, and they would maul each other with spears about four meters in length, until one broke. If you were in the first few ranks, chances were you were going to end up dead. No matter how decisive a victory was for one side, both would always suffer appalling and unnecessary losses. The passage-of-lines is one of the Roman innovations that help us to avoid this. Once soldiers in the front rank become fatigued, the centurion will give the command ‘set for passage-of-lines.’ At this time, the soldiers in the front rank will set in place and quit advancing forward. The centurion in the next rank will then give the command ‘execute passage-of-lines.’ The soldiers in the second rank, moving together as one, will rush past those in the front rank and smash into the enemy lines. This must be executed with precision, and all soldiers must remain together on line for it to inflict maximum shock on the enemy. The men who were previously in the front rank will back up while attending to any dead or wounded and make their way through the remaining ranks to the rear of the formation. Are there any questions concerning this?”
There were none.
Afternoon physical training consisted of going for a run around the inside of the fortress, only this time with a log pressed over their heads. As much as this added to the degree of difficulty, Artorius found that he was not as winded as he was after his first run. That night there was the usual friendly banter around supper with the rest of their group. Their companions were more than friendly, though there was definitely a degree of separation that would continue to exist until they completed training. Afterwards, it was a brief trip to the bathhouse before going to bed. Artorius was finding sleep easier to come by at night. He knew his conditioning was improving, he was learning the ways of the legion, and he was slowly transforming into a soldier. He longed for the day when he would be a civilian no longer.
The next day offered more of the same. The problem was Artorius’ arms and back still ached from the day before. It was not long before they started to burn under the strain of having to wield the practice gladius and shield for so long. He began to seriously regret not having included more endurance exercises in his old workout regime. He knew he was strong, but did not possess the muscular stamina necessary to go for long periods of time.
Sweat seemed to gush from every one of his pores. His arms felt ready to fall off as he continued to strike his wooden adversary, that only the day before he had attacked with such zeal and fervor. Just when he felt like he couldn’t go any further he heard a loud yelp as one of the other recruits felt the wrath of the centurion’s vine stick.
Where had he come from? He glanced over to see Magnus leaning on his shield while Centurion Macro alternately screamed in his ear and smacked him across the back with his vine stick.
“You worthless bag of sheep shit!” the centurion bellowed. “You say your body hurts? I’ll teach you the meaning of hurt!”
The young recruit gritted his teeth and kept his eyes front as the centurion continued to chastise him both physically and verbally. Finally, with a yell of determination he lunged forward and attacked the wooden stake with renewed energy.
“Better,” he heard Macro say aloud. “Keep it going, recruit.” Artorius immediately renewed his own assault, lest he, too, fall victim to the centurion’s wrath.
That evening he sat in the heated pool in the bathhouse for some time, allowing the hot water to do its magic on his tight and aching muscles. He watched as Magnus slowly limped into the pool. He had several marks across his back, though none looked to have caused any kind of long-term injury. Still, Magnus winced as he lowered himself into the water.
“Certainly knows how to motivate, doesn’t he?” Artorius asked sarcastically.
“Artorius,” Magnus grumbled with his head lying back against the side of the pool, “would you take offense if I told you to go fuck yourself?”
Artorius laughed at his friend’s plight.
“Seriously though,” Magnus said, looking his way. “I suppose I should be grateful to Centurion Macro for helping me to strengthen my body and my mind.”
Artorius wasn’t sure if he was serious or if he was being sarcastic.
“And to think we actually volunteered for this,” Artorius mused to himself, his eyes shut.
“Ha!” Magnus snorted. “I swear the centurion’s not even human. Nor is that decanus who’s out there teaching us weapons drill. That man is some type of unholy machine. Either that or he’s a god of some sorts.”
“Oh relax,” they heard Praxus say as he lowered himself into the pool. “I assure you, Vitruvius is quite human.”
Magnus looked down into the steaming water. “I have got to watch what I say until I know who may be listening,” he whispered.
“It’s no
big deal,” Praxus replied. He seemed vibrant and full of life.
Obviously, he had not just had his backside beaten by a pissed off centurion with a vine stick.
“Trust me, I’ve been there myself on more than one occasion, to include after I got out of recruit training.”
“When was the last time you ever got the vine stick?” Artorius asked, suddenly curious.
“About a year and a half ago,” Praxus answered, his voice serious. “I was on sentry duty. I had spent the night before letting loose with wine and women, knowing I was to be on duty the next day. Well, about halfway through my shift I decided to use my shield as a prop and catch a quick nap. Lo and behold if Centurion Macro doesn’t wake me up with a blow to the back of my helmet. He caught me so hard, my helmet actually came off. He then walked away, without saying another word. As soon as I got off shift, I received one of the worst beatings I have ever taken in my life.
“What made it harder was there was a set of orders sitting on Macro’s desk, promoting me to decanus and giving me command of my own section. Needless to say, those got burned; I lost my immune status, also. It was only within the last few months that I got that back. And to be honest, I’ll be lucky now if I ever see Sergeant.” He paused for a few seconds, while contemplating things. “But then again, I did get off pretty easy. Falling asleep on sentry duty can be considered a capital offense. Macro could just as easily have had me crucified or hanged.” As Praxus finished his story, Valens and Decimus joined them.
“Valens, you haven’t been out with one of your whores again, have you?” Praxus asked, pretending to be annoyed.
“Just came from there.” Valens announced, grabbing at his crotch.
“I hope you wash that thing before you get in here.” Praxus retorted. “Gods know what you’d get in the water.”
“Actually, our Valens here has stepped up in the world,” Decimus announced. “I saw this one. She had all of her teeth.”
Praxus frowned and nodded. “I have to say Valens, I’m impressed.”
