‘I came to have a word with Centurion Corax, sir, if I may.’
Corax threw him a casual glance. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I met you once before, sir, during the winter,’ said Quintus, keeping his accent coarse. ‘I brought a message. You mentioned that there were places for men like me in the velites.’
Corax put down his spoon and eyed him up and down. ‘Ah, yes. You’re the servant of that cavalry commander.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Please don’t ask me about him, thought Quintus, his heart racing. With any luck, Corax would have forgotten his father’s name.
‘So you’ve changed your mind, eh?’
Quintus had his story ready. ‘It’s time for me to do my bit, sir. Hannibal has to be stopped, or the whole of the Republic could go up in flames.’
A nod of approval. ‘Has your master given his consent?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Quintus threw up another prayer that there were no more questions.
‘You have no farm, no land?’
‘My father works a tiny patch, sir, but it’s not worth much. He has to work on the local estate to make ends meet,’ lied Quintus, humbly. He couldn’t make any pretence of being richer, in case Corax asked him to prove his status.
‘As I thought. What’s your name? Where are you from?’
‘Quintus Crespo, sir,’ said Quintus. He couldn’t use his real family name just in case his father ever heard it. ‘I’m from near Capua.’
‘What age are you?’
‘Eighteen, sir.’ There was a short pause, and Quintus began to feel sick.
‘Clearly, there’s no chance of taking your oath in Rome, so you can enlist right now.’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Quintus couldn’t stop himself from grinning.
‘Sixteen years you’ll be signing up for.’ Corax’s deep-set eyes regarded him unwaveringly.
‘Maybe twenty — if we don’t defeat Hannibal soon,’ added the other centurion with a laugh.
‘It won’t take that long to beat the gugga, sir,’ Quintus declared.
‘Not with you in our army, eh?’ The centurion chuckled, and Quintus flushed.
‘He’s eager, Pullo. Nothing wrong with that.’ Corax stood up and approached Quintus. ‘Ready?’
Quintus swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Repeat after me: I, a citizen of the Republic. .’
‘I, a citizen of the Republic. .’ said Quintus.
‘. . swear to bear allegiance to the Republic, and to defend it against its enemies.’ Corax paused to let Quintus echo his words. ‘I will obey my officers, and execute their orders as far as is in my power. This I swear before the sacred triad of Jupiter, Juno and Minerva.’
Worrying about how his new promise might affect the vow he’d made when first enlisting, Quintus repeated the last words. With luck, he thought, the gods would see his desire to fight for Rome as more important than the fact that he had disobeyed his father’s orders, thereby effectively deserting from the cavalry. Acid roiled in his belly. He had to hope that they didn’t disapprove, or he’d be a dead man in the first action he saw.
‘Excellent.’ Corax clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Welcome to the velites, Crespo, and to my maniple!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Quintus, feeling his nerves settle a little.
‘First things first. You need to be assigned to a tent unit. Then a trip to the quartermaster to get your equipment and weapons. Your training starts tomorrow.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Corax pointed. ‘Do you see the mule pens on this side?’
Quintus peered. ‘I do, sir.’
‘The velites’ tents are down there, beside them.’
Where the smell of piss and manure will be strongest, thought Quintus. ‘I see them, sir.’
‘The second last tent is one man down. Go and make yourself known. One of the others will tell you where to find the stores. I will see you at dawn tomorrow. Dismissed.’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Quintus saluted, turned about face and walked off. ‘The lad is still wet behind the ears,’ he heard Pullo say. His anger flared, but he kept walking.
‘Maybe so, but he’s eager. I think he’ll do all right,’ replied Corax.
Quintus’ fury subsided. Corax saw something in him. It was up to him to prove it to the centurion, and to the gods, so that they let him get away with breaking his cavalry oath.
A few hastati nodded as he passed, or muttered a greeting, but most gave him nothing more than a hard stare. Quintus stopped smiling, and set a scowl to his face. Life here wasn’t going to be easy.
Outside the second last tent, half a dozen young men in dirty tunics sat in a circle, finishing off the last of their meal. No stew, as Corax and Pullo had had. It looked to be bread and cheese. A couple of them looked up.
‘Centurion Corax sent me,’ said Quintus.
‘Oh yes?’ sneered a tall soldier with vivid blond hair. ‘To kiss my arse?’
‘I’ve just joined. Crespo is the name.’
‘What do I care?’
‘I’m to sleep in this tent.’
There were universal groans. ‘Bloody typical. Just as we’re getting used to a little more space, Corax has to ruin it,’ complained a short man with ears like jug handles.
Quintus was confused.
The short man explained. ‘There are eight hastati to a contubernium, but not when it comes to the velites. Your arrival brings us back to full strength, so ten of us have to sleep in that.’ He jabbed a thumb at the tent behind him. ‘Someone like Rutilus here’ — and he indicated an effeminate-looking man — ‘doesn’t mind, but the rest of us find it a tight fit.’
There were loud chortles, and Rutilus shrugged. ‘What can I say? I love it.’
‘Arse-lover,’ snarled the tall soldier.
‘Don’t worry, Macerio, I don’t find you attractive,’ retorted Rutilus. ‘You won’t ever find me crawling into your blankets. Unless you ask, of course.’
‘Watch your mouth!’ Macerio lunged forward, but Rutilus danced out of range.
More laughter, and Quintus smiled.
‘You think it’s funny, do you?’ Macerio’s attention was on him like that of a hawk.
A first test. Although Macerio was bigger than him, it was vital that he wasn’t seen as a pushover. ‘It was amusing, yes,’ Quintus replied calmly.
Macerio came at Quintus with swinging fists. ‘Time you learned a lesson in manners then, new boy!’
‘This is stupid.’ Quintus backed away from the first punches, but Macerio followed, scorn twisting his face.
‘Look, lads! We’ve got ourselves a coward as a tent mate.’
Quintus thought of the ambush he’d survived, and of the Trebia, where he’d stood his ground until his father had led him away. His blood boiled. For all he knew, Macerio hadn’t even been in the velites then. ‘I’m no coward!’
‘No?’ Macerio jabbed at his face, one-two. The second half connected with Quintus’ cheek, sending stars shooting across his vision. He dodged backwards. ‘No!’ he growled. Worry clawed at him. If he lost, his life in the velites would be even more of a struggle. He had to win. Anger makes a man lose his cool, he thought. ‘You know what? Rutilus was being kind. You’re the ugliest son of a whore I’ve seen in many a day. Who’d want to fuck you?’
‘Cocksucker!’ Spittle flew from Macerio’s lips.
‘Get him, Macerio!’ a man called out.
Quintus heard at least two others voicing their support. Other than the fact that it wouldn’t have been Rutilus, he had no time to dwell on who the tall man’s allies might be. His reach was less than Macerio’s, so he was going to have to close to make contact. Protecting his face with his fists and hunching his shoulders, Quintus went on the attack. He moved so fast that Macerio was caught off guard. A punch whistled over his head, and then he was through. Thump, thump. He landed two solid blows on Macerio’s belly. There was a squawk of pain. Quintus delivered another punch for good measure before bobbing away on dancing feet. Hopefully, that would teach Macerio to leave him alone.