There were a number of other pieces of equipment; a spade, which was handed to us by the immune with a smirk and a comment, “You’re going to get to know that piece of equipment very well.”
We stared at him blankly, not knowing exactly what he meant, but he was right. Along with the spade came the turf cutter, our patera from which we would prepare and eat our meals, a basket to put the smaller items in, the pack and a grinding mill that was to be shared by our tent section, along with spare thongs and other odds and ends. Finally, we were left with just two pieces of gear to be handed to us, and again Vibius and I thanked the gods that we knew what to expect. Alone out of our group we knew that we would not be getting the real sword or javelins that day, just the wooden sword and practice javelins. Therefore, when we were handed our wooden weapons, we made not a sound, which was fortunate, because the Pilus Prior had just entered the tent behind us, although we did not yet know it.
“What’s this?” demanded none other than Didius. “Are we children that we don’t get a real sword?”
“Exactly,” exclaimed one of the others, someone in the middle of the line, a somewhat swarthy lad standing next to someone who looked remarkably similar to him, although not close enough to be twins. “Aren’t we good enough to rate having a real weapon?”
For the second time that day, Didius was struck down by the Pilus Prior, followed closely by his fellow complainant, and then was joined by the man that had to be his brother, who out of reflex I suppose had reached down to help him.
“Nobody told you to touch him,” the Pilus Prior snarled.
It was beginning to become clear to us that nobody was going to do anything unless they were specifically told to do so, and I made a mental note of it.
“Sorry, Pilus Prior. He’s my broth…” he did not get a chance to finish his sentence, struck again by that infernal stick.
“And nobody asked you for an explanation you cunnus,” the Pilus Prior snapped. “On your feet, the lot of you.”
Once they climbed back to their feet and came to the correct position of Intente, which the rest of us had immediately assumed, the Pilus Prior spoke to the rest of us.
“So, is there anyone else who feels like complaining about not being handed a real sword?” he asked in a deceptively pleasant voice. Fortunately this did not fool anyone, even Artorius, into answering. “You cunni can barely walk in a straight line, so you don’t really expect that we’d hand you a real weapon, do you? You have a LONG way to go before you reach that point.”
Seeing that we had received our basic allotment of gear, he indicated that we should leave the tent, carrying the gear that we were not wearing in our basket or stacked on top of it, along with the possessions we had brought with us and gave the order to ad signa, to get back into our assigned places in line. It did not take us as long fortunately, or perhaps the Pilus Prior had just resigned himself to our ineptitude, so we only had to do it once. Giving us the order to turn to the right again, he started us marching towards the far side of the camp. As we marched we passed by other men, apparently in different stages of training, which I watched only out of the corner of my eye, not daring to turn my head. After a few moments, we reached the far corner of the camp, near the PortaPraetoria, the main gate. There were several rows of tents arranged in a square, all of the outermost tents facing the walls of the camp. Immediately behind each tent facing the walls was the back of another tent, whose opening faced in the opposite direction, away from the wall. Across a wide pathway from those tents was another line of tents, whose openings faced in the direction of the tents closest towards the wall. The effect was that there was a series of streets, with rows of tents acting as the houses, although it was much more neatly arranged than most cities. Such is the camp of the Roman army, even to this day. The camp we were at housed a total of four Legions, the 7th, 8th 9th and 10th. Normally the most experienced Legions are placed closest to the walls, but since we were in friendly territory and had no fear of attack, placing was not as important. This was to be our new home for most of the time we were in the Legions.
Indicating a tent, the Pilus Prior told us, “This is where all of you will be living. There are eight of you here; your Sergeant has already been selected, and one man will be joining you shortly. This is your tent section; look around at each of these men, because they’ll be the ones you’re living with from here until your time in the Legion is up. Or until you die, whichever happens first.”
He gave a short, barking laugh at this, which none of us found particularly amusing. Before he dismissed us to arrange ourselves he gave us one last instruction.
“Before you go in, each of you needs to select one other man from your tent section. This'll be your companion, your closest companion and friend for the time you're in the Legion. He’ll be the holder of your will, he’ll be the man who watches your back wherever you go. Whenever possible, you’ll go together, even when you go out into town, so choose wisely. I’ll give you a few moments to do that, then you’re to go into your tent, and with your choice in mind, you’ll select the spot where you’ll be sleeping. The cot that your Sergeant occupies is the one closest to the entrance; you’ll be able to tell because it’s already occupied with his gear. Now, I’ll return in a sixth part of the watch. Or maybe sooner,” he said this last with quiet menace, “just to make sure that you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing and not already fucking off.”
Turning and stalking off, he left us standing there a bit bewildered, if I am to be honest.
The man next to me, the second tallest man who I had judged to have some intelligence, nodded to me, “My name's Sextus Scribonius. You seem to have your wits about you, like me,” he grinned as he said this. “What do you say we pair up?”
Somewhat regretfully, I told him that I could not because I already had someone, and since my hands were full I nodded in the direction of Vibius, already walking towards me with a smile on his face. Scribonius was clearly disappointed, but he took it well, especially when I explained that we had been best friends for so many years. Immediately he turned to his left, but that was Didius, with whom he clearly had no intention of pairing.
Vibius whispered, “Well, at least this part is easy. Why don’t we duck in now and claim our spots while the rest of them are arguing?”
Which we immediately did, to the protests of some of the others, Didius most notably and unsurprisingly. However, the two brothers, seeing us, quickly followed. I selected the spot across from the Sergeant nearest to the door, with Vibius taking the spot next to me, the second man to the left. The brothers headed for the two cots directly across the doorway from Vibius and placed their gear on them, claiming the space as theirs. They were followed by two others, who claimed the spots at the back, next to the brothers, and it was then I began to notice something that did not make sense. There were a total of eight cots, but there were eight of us already, plus the unnamed Sergeant, and the Pilus Prior had told us that one more would be joining us. That made ten men, but only eight spots. Vibius caught on as well, and we were looking at each other in a puzzled manner when we heard a new voice at the entrance to the tent. We both turned to see another Legionary, wearing a uniform identical to us, with the exception that his helmet had a flowing black horse tail on top of it, the tail spilling down near his shoulders.