by James Mace
“Damn it!” he cursed, removing his helmet. “Five years and this is the best I can do?” He was certain that he would finally best Vitruvius.
The optio started laughing. “Hey, a draw is better than another thrashing. Besides, I think I’ve finally found someone to succeed me as chief weapons instructor for the century.”
“Who is it?” Artorius asked.
Vitruvius raised an eyebrow. “Artorius, did I hit you so hard that you’ve gone completely dense?” he asked, looking down at his hand, which was bleeding. Artorius dropped his head and chuckled to himself. “I guess you did ring my bell a little bit,” he replied as he rubbed the sore spot on his cheek. Vitruvius clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ve got a meeting with the centurion. Do you mind putting my practice weapons away?”
“Not at all,” Artorius replied as he took both shields and swords over to the armory. As he walked he thought about his fight with Vitruvius. Something in his mind told him that it would probably be their last. He regretted not getting the much desired victory over the man who had taught him so much. He then considered the significance of becoming the century’s chief weapons instructor. It was a position usually occupied by a decanus or above or, failing that, at least someone already on immune status. Artorius met none of these conditions.
Centurion Macro was slowly pacing back and forth behind his desk, both hands clasped behind his back. Vitruvius walked in to see that Tesserarius Flaccus and Sergeant Statorius were in the office as well.
Macro was fairly young for a centurion, being that he was only in his early thirties. War and the life of the legions had done much to age him. What ravaged him the most was that he was one of the few survivors of the Teutoburger Wald disaster; something he never fully recovered from. The traumatic shock of the massacre had caused his jet black hair to gray on the sides and back almost overnight. He was a ruggedly handsome man, though his hands and face bore visible scars from countless adversaries.
Flaccus was perhaps the oldest soldier in the century. His face was gnarled by the effects of age and, perhaps, a little too much wine. A few wisps of grey hair adorned the sides of his head. Vitruvius was bald himself and was quick to chastise the tesserarius for refusing to accept the loss of his hair. Flaccus was a good soldier, although a bit one-dimensional for Vitruvius’ liking. He knew drill and regulations by heart, but he lacked imagination.
“I found someone to succeed me as chief weapons instructor,” Vitruvius announced as he walked in.
Macro grunted as he continued to pace back and forth. Vitruvius looked over at Flaccus, puzzled, and decided it was best to wait. With that, he stood next to the other two men, with his hands clasped behind his back.
At length Macro finally spoke. “The reason I have called you in here is because this affects you all. To start with, Vitruvius, I must first congratulate you. Centurion Justinian of the Third Century has elected to retire after twenty-eight years in the army. The entire chain of command was unanimous in its recommendations that you be selected to succeed him.” He paused to let the words sink in. Vitruvius stood rigid, though in his eyes Macro could see the sense of disbelief. He turned his gaze towards Flaccus and Statorius.
“Flaccus, I have decided that you will replace Vitruvius as optio. I know you only have a handful of years left before your own discharge and retirement, and I feel this is the best way for you to serve out your final years in the army.
“Sergeant Statorius, you will be promoted to tesserarius. I need you to recommend a successor to take over your section.”
Statorius did not hesitate before announcing his recommendation. “Praxus is senior to the other legionaries in my section. He is also the most experienced and one they all look up to.”
“Not Praxus,” Macro replied immediately.
Statorius looked crestfallen. Praxus had committed a grievous error by falling asleep on sentry duty once and had been caught by Centurion Macro. Macro had burned his orders, which at that time would have promoted him to sergeant. He also stripped him of his immune status, which he later reinstated. That had been six years before, and Statorius was hoping that Macro would finally let Praxus advance up the career ladder that he was certain he was meant to take.
Macro saw the concern on the decanus’ face. “Praxus will be moving to take over for Sergeant Sextus, who has also elected to retire from the legions.” Vitruvius smiled when he thought about Praxus commanding the section that he had led before Sextus.
“What about Artorius?” Vitruvius asked.
All eyes fell on him.
“I also recommend that he replace me as chief weapons instructor. I feel that he is ready to take charge of his own section.”
Macro looked over at Statorius. “Sergeant?”
Statorius thought for a second and then nodded. “He’s young, but he is well educated and has demonstrated sound leadership potential. Hell, he and Praxus practically run the section as it is.”
“It’s settled then,” Macro said, slamming his hands down on his desk. “Camillus!”
The century’s signifier strolled in. “No need to shout,” he said in his usual good-natured manner, “I was listening at the door the entire time.” Macro ignored him. “Get me Praxus and Artorius.” Camillus nodded and exited. Vitruvius walked out as Camillus dispatched an orderly to summon the two legionaries. He felt bad in a way. Camillus had been on the promotion fast-track early on in his career, though everything seemed to have stagnated once he made signifier. Technically, he was third in command of the century and should have been the next optio. Vitruvius had passed over both him and Flaccus, having been promoted directly from decanus to optio. And now Flaccus would pass up the signifier as well.
It was impossible to gauge Camillus’ age. He possessed a boyish, almost cherub face that perpetually made him look like he was still a young boy; though he was certainly much older. Vitruvius figured the signifier had never shaved a day in his life. Camillus’ face was always more filled out during the winter months, making him look even younger. It was an odd thing, the way his weight would drastically fluctuate throughout the year. During the campaign season’s warm months, he would be lean and fit from the countless miles of marching while carrying the century’s signum. During the winter, he put on what he referred to as his ‘protective coat’ of fat from inactivity and too many hearty meals.
“So, Centurion Vitruvius, is it?” Camillus asked with a sincere smile.
“Not yet,” Vitruvius replied. “Though I have to say I feel kind of bad for you. This is the second time you’ve been passed over for optio.”
Camillus waved his hand dismissively. “Vitruvius, you’ve got to remember, I’m a lot younger than you and Flaccus. The only reason I made signifier as fast as I did was because, at the time, the century was in a crunch, and it seemed like none of you jackals knew basic mathematics. I got my rank because they needed somebody to do the payroll, that’s all. Besides, I have a pretty comfortable billet here! An optio’s pay is only marginally higher than mine, and the duties and responsibilities are nightmarishly more complex. If I can tell you a secret, I’m the one who told Macro to put Flaccus in your spot. I’m holding out for a cohort standard bearer position or perhaps even aquilifer someday.” The position he referred to was that of the man who carried the legion’s eagle standard into battle. He was also the senior secretary and treasurer of the legion, whose rank and pay was equal to that of a centurion primus ordo.
“Still, you shouldn’t sell short your own leadership abilities,” Vitruvius countered. “The younger guys look up to you. They respect you because your demeanor is so relaxed, and yet you still have a sense of valor and command presence that I don’t think you realize.”
Camillus shrugged at that. “I only let it come out when I’m in a bad spot. You know they gave me the Silver Torque for Valor at Idistaviso for protecting the standard.”
Vitruvius gave a slight chuckle at the memory. “I remember. You stabbed a barbarian with the s
ignum and then planted it in his chest!” “Yeah, and I couldn’t get the damn thing unstuck! I had to fight off a swarm of those bastards to keep them from getting their hands on it. I was scared to death because I knew if I let them carry off the standard, Macro would have had my balls!”
The rest of the section watched as Statorius and Praxus packed all of their personal belongings and gear and as Artorius moved to Statorius’ bunk. The decanus had a slightly larger living space than the legionaries and Artorius intended to take full advantage of this. Praxus would move to a similar bunk in Sergeant Sextus’ section, one block of rooms over, the former decanus having already moved to a billet in the First Cohort while waiting for his retirement papers to come through. Sergeant Statorius would get his own quarters at the end of the barracks, next to those of the signifier and the optio.
As Statorius walked out with the last of his belongings, he stuck his hand out, which Artorius readily accepted.
“Take care of these men,” the sergeant said. “They served me well, and I know they’ll do the same for you.”
Artorius nodded and clasped his former section leader’s hand even harder. “I won’t let you down,” he replied as Statorius made his way down the long hallway to his new quarters. After he had gone, Artorius turned and appraised what was left of the section, his section now.
There was Decimus, the most experienced legionary in the section. Three times he had been awarded the Rampart Crown for having been the first soldier over the wall of an enemy stronghold; a feat which had never been replicated within the legion. Decimus’ hair was a lighter color, giving off a slightly reddish tint. He was taller than most of the men, with a lean build. He reminded Artorius of a monkey the way he could climb the most difficult obstacles with ease.
Valens was the resident letch who had quite the notorious reputation for his exploits with women of ill repute, though his standards were practically nonexistent. This perplexed many, because he was rarely drunk and could not blame his debaucheries on being inebriated. Still, he was a rock solid soldier and extremely competent in battle. He bore a perpetually deviant grin and constantly twitching left eye.
Carbo, the lover of wine and spirits, did not look like the typical legionary. Slightly overweight with a florid complexion that made him look constantly out of breath, his appearance was very much deceiving. He was reliable in a crisis and had been decorated for valor on numerous occasions. Besides wine, his other weakness was a local tavern wench that he swore, repeatedly, had a twin sister.
Then there was Gavius, who had come through recruit training with Artorius five years before. Orphaned at a young age, his family name alone had allowed him to join the legions. At first thought by many to be meek and unassuming, he had proven his mettle time and again during the campaigns against Arminius. He was also one of the most skilled javelin throwers that Artorius had ever seen.
And finally, there was Magnus, the Norseman. He had also gone through recruit training with Artorius and was his best friend. He was of similar height and build as Artorius, though the mop of blonde hair on his head and piercing blue eyes betrayed his less than purely Latin origins. Along with Decimus, he was one of the better educated legionaries, and Artorius hoped to see him rise through the ranks, as well, some day. Magnus was a natural leader, one who did not need rank to command respect. There were two vacancies within the section, though Artorius knew it was rare for sections to ever be at full strength. While having additional legionaries to share the workload would be welcome, the section agreed they did like having the extra space. Indeed, one of the vacant bunks had been converted into a type of shrine where relics and trophies won on campaign by the legionaries were displayed.
“So does this mean you’ll be buying the wine later?” Magnus asked.
“Not tonight,” Artorius replied as he lay down on his bunk. “Besides, they won’t do the ceremony until tomorrow, so it’s not even official yet.”
“Yeah, best not screw things up the night before,” Decimus added. “Don’t want to end up like Praxus and have to wait another six years for promotion to roll around!”
Artorius snorted at that. Indeed, Praxus should have been promoted years before, yet it took a long time for the scourge of his mistake to erase itself.
That night as Artorius sat writing at his small desk there was a knock at the door.
“Come!” he shouted, and Praxus stuck his head in. Artorius was by himself, the rest of the section enjoying a night off. He looked up from the letter he was writing to his father under the soft glow of an oil lamp. He smiled when he saw his friend and peer, and waved him in.
“So how are the boys assimilating?” Praxus asked as he grabbed a stool and sat across from Artorius.
Gaius Praxus had been a peer mentor to Artorius; the most experienced and quick-thinking legionary he had met. He was fairly tall, about the same height as Decimus, his hair shorn on the sides and back and very short on top. Artorius frequently accused him of keeping his hair so short in order to hide the gray.
“They seem to be adapting alright. Of course we haven’t been officially promoted yet, so maybe it just hasn’t sunk in. Carbo and Valens seem to be perfectly happy where they are, and besides I don’t think either of them can read or write, so any hopes of promotion are out for them. I was a bit concerned that there might be some resentment from Decimus, though.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Praxus answered. “Decimus is educated and a good soldier, but he has little aspirations when it comes to having to lead other legionaries. I think his ambition is to keep getting himself decorated on campaign so that he can get moved over to the First Cohort and enjoy veteran status as soon as possible. Usually, that doesn’t happen until one has been in sixteen years; however, I have seen legionaries transferred to the First based on merit. What about Gavius and Magnus? I remember when you all came through recruit training together.” Artorius shrugged.
“I think they’re happy for me, Magnus especially. He has a lot of potential, and I hope that I don’t overshadow him. Given the right kind of mentoring, I think he should get his own section some day, sooner rather than later I hope. Funny thing is you know both of them are older than me? Only a few months in Magnus’ case, mind you, but it does seem a bit odd that I am not only the section leader, I’m also the youngest.”
“It is experience and what one does with it that makes a leader, not his age,” Praxus reached across the desk and gave Artorius a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“So how do you like your new section?” Artorius asked.
Praxus shrugged. “They seem like a decent lot. I’ve known most of them for some time. Four of the lads were there back when Vitruvius was the Decanus. Two are brand new recruits in the middle of training. I think you’ll be getting a chance to work with them soon enough.”
Artorius nodded. He had almost forgotten about the additional responsibilities laid on him. He was going to be appointed the chief weapons instructor as well. It was an additional duty, and one that meant extra incentive pay, which he liked. He just had to learn quickly how to go about organizing the training schedules for sections and assessing individual soldiers, particularly recruits. Plus he knew there were numerous duties, that as a decanus, he would have to oversee as well. It all seemed overwhelming. Praxus saw his concern.
“Don’t worry too much about it. They don’t start individual weapons training for a couple of weeks. That will give you time to go over the lesson plan that Vitruvius left.”
“I just have to make sure my own section is in order before then,” Artorius replied.
“Hey, just be glad you have all veterans and no recruits to worry about,” Praxus smiled. “Your boys are pretty much self-sufficient and can take care of themselves. They’ll help pick up the slack if they see you getting overwhelmed. Remember, we used to do the same for Statorius.”
Artorius furrowed his brow in contemplation. “Yeah, he did seem to come to you and me a lot. I never really ga
ve it much thought.”
“He came to me because I had the most experience, and he came to you because he was grooming you to replace him. I know he brought your name up to Vitruvius and Macro on more than one occasion. Vitruvius, especially, commended your talents and leadership potential. Truth be told, Artorius, I think all three of them see you going places within the legion. Once you get assimilated into your new duties you should start learning the duties of the senior officers in the century. Camillus and Flaccus would be glad to help you, and you already know Statorius is looking out for you.”
“I won’t lie to you, Praxus,” Artorius said after a moment’s contemplation. “I’ve oftentimes watched Macro, Dominus, Proculus, and even Master Centurion Flavius. And I’ve thought to myself, ‘I’ll be there someday.’ Pretty presumptuous, I know.”
Praxus shook his head at that. “Not really. I remember how young Macro was when he was promoted to centurion. I think he was only twenty-nine or thirty. If I were to place a wager on it, I would bet that you see the centurionate at an even younger age than he. did. Normally one has to be at least thirty to even be considered for the promotion; However, we all know there are exceptions to every rule. Augustus set quite the precedent when he was given the consul’s chair at nineteen, sixteen years shy of the minimum age requirement.”
Artorius started laughing and then sobered when he saw Praxus’ face showed that he was serious. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, perplexed. “I don’t think the rules the senatorial class chooses to apply to itself are relevant to mere plebs like us. You’ve got to remember, Macro got accelerated to centurion after that corruption scandal that came to light after Tiberius was recalled to Rome. If I remember right, more than twenty centurions in the legion were discharged in disgrace.”
