Holding that position for a moment so that we could see it, he broke the position then immediately snapped, “Intente!”
Instantly we tried to emulate the position he had just shown us, as he walked up and down, inspecting us, correcting my comrades with a quick smack to the part of the body that was not in the proper position. His progress was punctuated by grunts and groans as he made his way to me, and I prayed to every god I knew that I had done it correctly because I was still sore from my earlier lesson. Once he reached me, I concentrated on looking straight ahead, despite my natural inclination to look at him. This was one time where my height actually helped, since I could look directly at his horsehair device and not in his eyes. Luckily, he just rapped my knuckles to make me put my hands into the correctly curled position before he returned to the front of our group.
“That is pathetic, truly pathetic,” he sighed, with what sounded like genuine sadness, “but since we have so much to do today, we’ll have to work on this another time. Now, I’m going to give another command, to tell you to turn to the right. When this command is given, you'll all immediately pivot, like so,” he demonstrated by pivoting on the ball of his left foot, while simultaneously turning on his right heel, then after turning, bringing his left foot back to its original position next to his right foot. “You will not move until you hear the last word of the command,” he commanded next, which confused me.
How would we know which was the last word?
However, it became clear that this was yet another trick, when he called out, “AdGLADIUM,” putting the emphasis on the second word, causing at least three of the others to turn in the manner he had demonstrated. For some reason I did not move; I think I was already beginning to understand how things worked, or so I thought at the time.
Immediately, the Pilus Prior screamed, “Do not move!” Then he ran over to the unfortunates and roared at one of them, “You miserable bag of cac! I said to wait for the FINAL word of the command.”
“But Pilus Prior,” the man replied, in a whining, wheedling voice that I recognized immediately as belonging to Didius.
Before he could get another word out, however, the thud of the stick smashing into his gut sounded, and I heard him fall, choking.
“But what? There is no but, you cunnus, you piece of filth! You’ll wait for the command!”
Before Didius could give any response, Pilus Prior Crastinus leaped to the other two, administering the same type of punishment to them that he had doled out to Didius. It turned out that one of them was Vibius, although I did not find out until later, because he was at the farther end of the line, towards what would become known as the “little end.”
Once the three recovered and were at the original position of Intente, the Pilus Prior again commanded, “AdGladium……Clina!”
Immediately, we all turned in the manner we had been taught, except that now, one of our group, while he had indeed turned in the exact manner that was specified, turned to the left instead of the right. This sent Pilus Prior Crastinus into an ecstasy of rage.
“By the gods, what has been sent to me?” he asked rhetorically.
Running over to the man standing facing the one to his left, instead of staring at the back of the man to his right as he should have, I could hear by the tone of voice that this had taken the anger of the Pilus Prior to a new level.
“Are you daring to tell me that you don’t know your left from your right?”
“N-n-no, Pilus Prior,” came the answer, almost forcing me to look down the line to see who could possibly not know their left from their right.
The response obviously caught the Pilus Prior by surprise as well, because there was silence for a moment, then he asked in a deceptively calm voice, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Q-Q-Quintus Artorius, Pilus Prior,” came the answer, in a quaking voice.
“Well, Quintus Artorius, seeing as your whore of a mother and slave of a father never bothered to teach you your left from right, let me show you.”
SMACK!
“That’s the left side of your face.”
SMACK!
“That’s the right side of your face. Which hand do you eat with?”
“Th-this hand, Pilus Prior,” came the answer.
SMACK!
“That’s your right hand! That’s the hand you’ll hold a sword in, do you understand? So when I give you the command, AdGladium, Clina, which direction do you suppose you’ll turn towards? No, don’t tell me, point.”
A silence, where Artorius obviously pointed in the right direction.
“Very good, Artorius. Now, turn around and face the way everyone else is facing. And remember, if you obey an order and find yourself as you just were, you were wrong. Got it?”
“Yes, Pilus Prior.”
Once we were faced the correct way, he taught us the command to march, starting on the left foot first, which made sense because it automatically put our shield side first, and would be how we would fight. After a few fits and starts, and more beatings, we finally got it right, then marched to the section of the camp, behind the Praetorium but still part of the headquarters area, where the quartermasters were housed in their own tent, almost as large as the Praetorium. Inevitably, we bungled the halting when the order came, which was of course by design of the Pilus Prior, to whom we were taking a healthy dislike at this point. After more beatings, and practice of starting and stopping, we were then told to go into the tent, where we would be issued our basic necessities as a Legionary. I was first in line, and immediately ran into trouble because of my size, when I was handed a tunic, the soldier’s tunic, plus a spare and told to try it on. Instead of hanging loosely in the proper manner, it was fairly tight, particularly across the shoulders. The first pair of boots I was handed were too small as well, as were the next few pairs. Finally, after rummaging around, the Legionary assigned as immunes for the quartermaster found a pair that almost fit.
“You’ll have to have one of the cobblers outside of camp make you a pair, special.”
“How much will that cost?” I asked, dismayed.
The Legionary shrugged, “No more than a few sesterces, I expect. I wouldn’t know.”
He immediately moved on to the others, passing out their own set of boots, all of which fit, I noted dismally. This was not shaping up to be a great day for me. While the armor I was handed fit, it was also a little snug. Fortunately it was not enough to restrict my movement, and I gave a quiet thanks to the gods for that small favor. Some of the other lads looked lost, and more than one staggered when they were handed the armor and told to put it on over the tunic. We were told by the immune to invest in a padded undershirt that was not issued, but could be made by one of the merchants dealing in such items who were a permanent fixture outside the camp. Handing us our belt and harness next, he showed us how to bunch the mail of our armor above the belt so that it would distribute the weight better. Next came the helmet, and once again I presented a problem, although this was more my problem than for the immunes. The helmet fit, except that it fit more tightly than it did on the others, so that the felt padded cap that the others wore was useless to me, at least with its normal thickness. I was sure that this too would require a trip outside camp at the first opportunity. In the meantime, the helmet was riding on my head with nothing in between it but my hair, which kept catching on some of the internal fittings. Because of that discomfort, I resolved that I would cut my hair as short as I could, a style that I wear to this day. Hair may be the pride of a woman, but it is the shame of a warrior, at least that is what I told the others when they teased me about being practically bald. A hidden benefit of shaving my head was that it gave the normal cap just enough room to fit, saving me a few sesterces. Even so, it was still a snug fit but I learned fairly quickly that this was an advantage; it kept the helmet from slipping down over my eyes or turning sideways which was a constant problem for a lot of my comrades. Once the helmets were passed out, we were given our shield, not the real one but the one made of wicker with which Cyclops had trained Vibius and me. Having held a shield many times by this point, Vibius and I had no trouble, something that did not go unnoticed by the immune, who narrowed his eyes though he did not say anything. The others had some trouble, handling it awkwardly, not sure how to grasp it correctly. One of the others even dropped his, causing a string of curses to be launched by the immune, yet thankfully there was no beating, the Pilus Prior not being nearby at the time.