We were marched back to our tent and put in the charge of Sergeant Calienus, who informed us that it was almost time for the evening meal, so he spent the time waiting showing us the proper way to stow our gear under our cots. As one might surmise, everything had to be arranged just so, and although he did not have to do so, Sergeant Calienus explained why.
“Let’s say it’s the middle of the night, and you’re all sound asleep, thinking of the women you’re missing back home,” he said, drawing a chuckle from us, which he did not seem to mind. “Then out of nowhere, the horns are blasting and men are shouting because an attack on the walls has started. It's pitch black, and you have to fall to your defensive station, which” he added, “I’ll show you where it is on the wall on the way to draw our meal. Anyway, everyone’s screaming and shouting, there’s a horrible racket coming from the barbarian horde outside the walls, and it’s utter chaos and confusion.”
While he was talking, he was seated on his cot facing us, except he was demonstrating as he spoke, pulling out first his armor and putting it on as he continued explaining, “So you've got just a moment to get your gear on and stand to on the wall, or there'll be Hades to pay, or worse. What if the breach to the wall happens in your area, because you couldn’t get armed and ready in the proper amount of time?”
By the time he was finished, he had put on his helmet, donned his armor, strapped on his baldric, grabbed his shield and was ready to go, all without looking for any piece of his gear. We were all suitably impressed, and I at least saw the immediate sense of what he had said. As we were to learn, this was the way of Sergeant Calienus; while the Pilus Prior used his vitus and the most inventive cursing I had ever heard in my life to that point, Sergeant Calienus talked to us like we were already Legionaries. I supposed it was because he was not as far removed from having been like us as Pilus Prior Crastinus, although I was hard pressed to imagine that Crastinus was ever a tiro. In fact, I imagined that he had been born in his armor, fully formed and ready for battle from the day he was born, an image that I was to learn was carefully cultivated by him, and one that I would come to use myself.
Sergeant Calienus marched us back to the quaestorium, the tent that is located next to the Praetorium and serves the quartermaster, where we were given our flat loaf of panis castrenis, had the small stoppered bottle for our olive oil filled, and watered wine put into our flask. Some of the boys looked at what they were being handed with a combination of puzzlement and distaste; for me, it was nothing since I had always been indifferent to food as far as what it tasted like. I did miss my meat, although I did not say anything since that would have exposed my poverty to the others. Over the years I have developed a belief that one reason I was so large was due in part to my father’s lack of success as a farmer. Because we did not have much grain with which to make our bread, we ate more meat than was normal for most Romans, and I have since seen people like the Germans who are my size and whose diet is composed mostly of meat, which seems to support my idea. Still, it was not something I liked to talk about with the others, so I pretended that I liked the diet of bread and chickpeas just as much as everyone else.
“We get bacon every other day, a nice salted chunk of it, but today's not the day. And you’re lucky that we’re in camp and only training, or it would be straight water, no wine,” Calienus explained.
Once we were given our ration, we marched back to our tent, where Calienus had us sit on the ground outside, and we began eating our evening meal. While we ate, Calienus gave us more information.
“If I were you, boys, I’d save a bit of the bread and oil for the morning, because we only get our one ration a day.”
Granted, the loaf, which was round and flat and about four inches high by about one foot in diameter was a good size, but I still wondered how we were to survive on this alone, even with the bacon as supplement.
“Once we begin marching, our rations will increase,” explained Calienus, who obviously was a mind reader.
Or, he had once been a tiro and wondered the same thing.
“But while all we’re doing right now is drill and weapons training, the general doesn’t want us getting fat and lazy.”
I did not see how that could happen, but I was content to take him at his word. Calienus then went around the group, asking questions of each of us in order to learn more about them. It was in this manner that I learned the names and basic information of the men I would spend the next several years with, some of them at least. Along with Vibius and myself, there was Sextus Scribonius, the man who stood next to me when we were arranged by height. Scribonius said he came from Corduba, yet he was vague about what his father did or anything else about his family, for that matter. It was a subject that he rarely discussed, and it would not be until many years later that I would learn that he was lying about where he was from, but that is for later. Then there was Quintus Artorius, and his story was a fairly common one, not unlike mine. His father was a blacksmith and they could not get along, so after a particularly bitter argument, Artorius threatened that he would go join the Legion, whereupon his father called his bluff. It was clear to all of us that he seemed to be having second thoughts, an impression that was only reinforced as time went by. His was the nervous voice I heard in the pre-dawn of that day when we all reported. He was also the smallest member of our group, which I do not imagine helped his outlook. The two who looked alike were indeed brothers, Marcus and Quintus Mallius, and it was a common occurrence for all of us to mix them up. Before long they both earned nicknames, but until they did, it was a source of exasperation for all of us. They were sons of a farmer in the province, outside the town of Illurco and were quick to point out that there was a pretty good chance that the olive oil we were dipping our bread in came from their farm, since they had accompanied their father making a delivery to the army. The brothers decided to enlist because there was a multitude of brothers Mallius. Marcus was the oldest by a year, although they could have almost passed for twins. Both had a cheerful disposition generally, though Quintus possessed a fearsome temper, which got him in trouble more than once during our time together. Next was Publius Vellusius, who stood to the right of Vibius in our line, and up to that point from who I had barely heard a word. His story was similar to Marcus and Quintus, and Vibius for that matter; an excess of sons, with Vellusius being the excess. His father had a farm in the far north-west of the province in Nertobriga; it took him a week to arrive at Corduba and he had gotten a later start like we had, accounting for his relatively late arrival along with the rest of us. He was about as tall as Vibius, but built much more slightly, with a bristle of black hair that seemed to stick straight up, no matter how much oil he used to keep it flat. To me, he looked a bit like a bird, with the same kind of nervous movement and constant peering at his surroundings, as if waiting for a cat to come along, but he turned out to be a good soldier, though, one of the best in our Century. Finally, there was Didius, who had calmed his mouth somewhat, just not enough to suit me or the others. Despite being shorter than I was, he was built similarly to me, and indeed he turned out to be quite strong, perhaps as strong as I was, something I had not encountered before. Perhaps, if I am being honest, that is one of the reasons that I disliked him as much as I did, although if that is true it does not adequately explain the hatred the others held for him before much time would pass from this first day. Still, at that moment, we were willing to give him a chance, despite his bragging and generally unpleasant attitude. Didius told us that he was born to be in the Legions, like his father and father before him, who were great heroes in their own right, although he would outshine them, and the rest of us. I took care to hide my feelings, munching on my bread with what I hoped was a bland expression. Calienus just gave a slight grin, as if he had heard it all before, which he had. Once we were done, he told us about himself. He was 28, and had been in the Legion for ten years, but re-enlisted for the full sixteen year term that Caesar set as the length for this enlistment of the 10th Legion, all for the chance of promotion to Sergeant. He was also immune, having skill as an armourer, his father being one before him and teaching him his craft. That meant that he was exempt from most of the other duties, with the exception of standing watch during the night hours, when he would not have been working anyway. Calienus was in Pompey’s 1st Legion, a fact that gave him instant respect, and had been with Pompey during his short but sharp campaign against the pirates, recently returning from the war against Mithridates, which was the talk of the Roman world ever since. He fought in over thirty engagements, and was wounded four times, once so seriously that he almost died from the infection. Calienus was a hardcore Pompeian, and I sometimes wonder if things had worked out differently what road he would have traveled. But I am ahead of myself again; forgive me, gentle reader, it is the prerogative of the elderly to sometimes meander. Introductions done, with the light beginning to fade, we continued talking and asking questions of Calienus, all of which he answered with great patience. Finally, the horn blew that signaled it was time to retire, and we entered the tent to make preparations for sleep. Because it was our first night, we were not entered as part of the duty rotation, though that would change the next day when the last member of the tent section joined us. It was just as well; we were all exhausted and I think even if Hannibal himself had risen from the dead to mount an attack on the camp, it would have been impossible to rouse us from our slumber. I do not even remember lying on my cot, and in the morning I awoke in the exact same position in which I had fallen asleep, something that would become a common occurrence over the next few weeks.