R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

The next morning we were roused, again before daylight, to start our day, being given just a few moments to eat what we saved from the night before, then forming up outside the tent. Pilus Prior Crastinus came striding up, with the same invisible numen waving the same invisible turd under his nose.

“Well, you cunni ,” he snarled by way of greeting, “I was expecting half of you to be gone like the sorry specimens you replaced.”

This was a shock; it was the first we heard that we were not just original drafts but instead had replaced others. As we learned the story over the next few days, we were added to the Legion to replace tiros in the Second Cohort that failed to measure up, for one reason or another. Rather than sprinkling us into the Centuries of the Cohort that lost men, they instead consolidated by moving the men who were in our Century out to the ones that had missing men. The logic was obvious; at least, once it was explained to us. The other Centuries were all at more advanced stages of training, and dropping in a brand new tiro into one of them would have been a hardship that compromised the training of the other Centuries. Instead our Century, the First Century, was selected to be the one to dole out men to make a hole to fill, with members of the First Century serving as replacements for those who had fallen out. Like with most things in the army, once explained it made perfect sense. It was just relatively rare that things were clarified for us, especially as time passed. The more experienced we were, the less it was considered important to at least give us an idea of what was going on or why we were doing something; we were just expected to obey as if the order came from Jupiter’s mouth directly to our ears. Again, if one thinks about it, it makes some sense. By that time, you are indoctrinated in the ways of the Legion. In your first days, you are still more citizen than Legionary, and as part of the process, there is a certain amount of explanation that is given to you. Not much, but a little, which is more than more experienced Legionaries got.

This also explained why we were in the First Century, so we could have the undivided attention of the Pilus Prior, not that we were very appreciative. He marched us over to the forum, and we picked up where we left off the day before, learning the basic drill movements and commands. Over and over, with the word “ Repitate ” ringing in our ears, along with the sting of his vitus to help remind us, we marched up and down, up and down. The only break in the monotony was in mid-morning, when the last member of our tent section joined us, having drawn his gear and been escorted by either Sergeant Calienus or the Optio to our tent. He was introduced to us as Marcus Atilius, and he slotted into our line between Scribonius and Didius, much to the relief of Scribonius. Atilius appeared to be somewhat older than the rest of us, with the exception of Calienus, though it turned out to be more a case of hard living. When he joined us, he wore the same look as Vibius the morning before, somewhat pale and a little unsteady on his feet, the result of a particularly festive farewell party, or so we thought at the time. However, we would learn that every day was an occasion for a festival as far as Atilius was concerned. Because he was also behind in learning the basic movements, we were told to run around the camp along the Via Sagularis , the road that runs around the inside perimeter of the camp along the walls, while he received personal instruction.

When we all hesitated for a moment, confused, the Pilus Prior snapped, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“How many times, Pilus Prior?”

This came from Scribonius, which is exactly what I wanted to know, but thank the gods he beat me to it, because it earned nothing more than a smack with the vitus and a snarled, “Until I tell you to stop, you idiot.”

With that pleasant admonition, we began to run. Being in the lead, I set what I thought would be a pace that everyone could keep up with, yet would be sufficiently quick enough not to earn a beating from the Pilus Prior. However, I miscalculated, badly. While Cyclops made Vibius and I do plenty of exercises that helped our dexterity and overall endurance wearing helmet and armor, he never had us do any running, so very quickly I found that what I thought would be a comfortable pace was putting me into difficulty. However, I was also too proud to slow down, and I continued on, trying to ignore the pain in my side and the feeling that I was breathing pure fire. Leading the way for one circuit, then two, I never looked back, now afraid that since nobody behind me asked to slow down, I was running slower than they would have had they been leading.

It wasn’t until I was halfway through the second lap of the camp that I heard a gasping shout, “ Eho Pullus! By the gods man, are you trying to kill us all?”

Startled I looked around to see Scribonius, his face as red as our new sagum , the soldier’s cloak, staggering as he caught up to me now that I had slowed down. Looking over my shoulder, I saw to my dismay that the others were far, far behind, barely visible just turning the second corner of the second circuit of the camp. Scribonius, hands on his knees as he sucked in air, began to gag, making me feel horrible, and good all at the same time.

In between retches, he gasped, “Didn’t you hear us shouting for you to slow down? I swear that all of us were begging you to slow your pace, but you just ran along like you were Mercury himself.”

Despite the fact that I was breathing as hard as he was, and was fighting the urge to vomit as well, I tried to sound nonchalant as I replied, “Really? No, Scribonius, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t hear a thing. I just thought I was running at a pace that wouldn’t get us in trouble with Pilus Prior Crastinus.”

He looked up at me to see if I was joking, but in that at least I was telling the truth; by this time the others had joined us, and all assumed the same position as Scribonius, each of them cursing my name, my father and my ancestors. Even Vibius was angry with me, and I wavered between embarrassment and anger at the invective they were using against me.

Defensively I protested, “I already told Scribonius I was sorry. I didn’t realize I was running so fast.”

“Well, clean your ears out, damn you,” spat Didius, pushing my mood immediately to anger.

“If you can’t keep up, that’s not my problem,” I retorted, and he stood up straight, making a move towards me as if he had more to say, but before he could, Vibius stepped in between us and grabbed my arm. “None of us could keep up Titus,” he spoke sharply, “because you forget that you have these great long legs.”

That it was Vibius talking so immediately deflated me and I apologized again, this time more humbly, which seemed to satisfy everyone except for Didius, who continued to glare at me. That is when I knew that he and I were destined for trouble at some point. To make matters worse, the Pilus Prior happened to look up and saw us standing in a group, and we could hear his booming voice, over all the other noise of camp, and we jumped a little in panic.

“I don’t believe I told you cunni to stop,” he roared. “The next time I look around, you had better be running, ladies.”

We looked at each other, and then Scribonius said, “The Pilus Prior didn’t tell us what order to run in, did he?” Shaking our heads, he continued quickly, “Well then, let’s run with the little end at the front, that way we won’t have to worry about Pullus galloping off on us.”

This was immediately accepted, even by me, not wanting to draw the ire of the others any more than I already had, although I now knew that I could run more slowly without being afraid of being seen as weak. Quickly reversing our order, we started up again with Artorius leading us off. Almost immediately we could all see that while this was a good idea in theory, Artorius was so weak and slow the chances of evading the wrath of the Pilus Prior was practically non-existent. Fairly quickly we rearranged yet again, putting Vibius in front, who set a pace that most of us could follow with a moderate effort, except for Artorius. I assumed that the reason he was so far behind was that he was at the little end of our line, but it turned out that not only was he the smallest physically he was the weakest, in more ways than one. We made a couple more circuits before we heard the Pilus Prior yell at us to stop, which we did, heading back to where he and Atilius were standing. Poor Atilius, being the only focus of the Pilus Prior, already had several large red welts on his arms and legs but his face showed no emotion as he stood there at intente . It became apparent that Atilius had taken his personal lessons to heart, because he immediately matched us in terms of our skill level. Once more, the rest of the day was spent in drill, and it was a weary group that trooped to the tent. Sergeant Calienus joined us shortly, and informed us that we were going to be put into the rotation for guard duty, starting that night. During our tiro period, we would only be standing watch at night so that we could get all the training in possible. The brothers drew the first watch, followed by Scribonius and Artorius, then Vibius and myself. In this manner, everyone would be able to sleep through the night on a cot, although there would have to be some shifting around.