“All right,” he announced, “first thing is for you to gather round that stake right there,” he pointed to one a little distance off.
We assembled around it as he took my wooden sword from me, then had us maneuver so that our backs were turned to the other men who were training on the stakes around us. My first thought was that was smart because we were a little distracted watching other men working on the stakes, but as I came to find out, Optio Vinicius also did not want us infected by what he considered the bad habits that the other Cohort’s weapons instructors were instilling in their pupils. He held a very high opinion of his abilities, and all I can say is that I am still alive after more than 40 years in the Legions because of what I learned from him, in addition to what Cyclops taught me. There must have been truth to his opinion. Once he had us arrayed like he wanted, he showed us the basic positions that we would use in training. These were exactly the same positions that Cyclops had shown us, making it a struggle to appear interested. Inwardly, I was chafing to get started, yet Vinicius had his own pace and was not going to be rushed by a bunch of tiros, particularly a couple who thought they knew what they were doing. He also took time to show us how he wanted us to grip our wooden sword and as I looked at it, I saw that it was not the way that Cyclops had taught us, so I dismissed it as unimportant, confident that once I demonstrated my skill that some quibbling thing like the way I held it would not be an issue.
Finally, after what seemed like a full watch, he had us each stand in front of a stake and he returned my wooden sword to me. Then he walked from one of us to the other, checking our stance, kicking a foot wider here, turning a set of hips there. Finally, he returned to me, and I felt a flush of pride when he looked at my position and found it satisfactory.
Then he saw the way that I was holding the wooden sword but instead of hitting me, he just said quietly, “You’re not holding the weapon the way I demonstrated.”
“No Optio,” I answered, yet I made no move to change, instead just waiting for the chance to show off to him, sure that he would desist from this lunacy.
“And why aren’t you holding it the way I showed you?” he asked, as if he were truly interested.
“I…I’ve had training, Optio, from a man who was in the Legions, and this is the way I was taught to hold it.”
I winced in anticipation of a smack of some sort but instead, Vinicius merely nodded.
“You’re right, that’s the way the majority of the Legions are taught to hold the weapon, but that’s not the way I teach it,” he explained.
Unsure what to do, I stood there but still did not change the grip.
Sighing, he simply said, “All right, I can see you need some convincing. So, turn and face me and assume the first position.”
This was the position that makes us ready to strike, with the blade held parallel to the ground, the arm pulled back, ready to strike and with the hips twisted slightly. That was the position he had told us to get in originally, so I dropped back into it, facing him.
“Now, strike me. As hard as you can. Give me a killing blow.”
I was confused and very apprehensive. Confident as I was in my strength and ability, I was sure that even with the wooden sword I would impale the man, or at the very least break his ribs when I struck. If he was worried, he certainly did not seem to be, and he repeated, a little impatiently, “I said, strike me. Give me all that you’ve got.”
As if sensing my concern, he added, “And don’t worry, if you land the blow, I’ll absolve you with my dying breath.”
He said this last with enough sarcasm that it made me angry, so I immediately struck my blow, punching the wooden sword forward hard as I twisted my hips with as much force and speed as I could. To this day, I am sure that if he were any other man, I would have killed him, wooden blade or no. Instead, with a speed that I had never seen before he lashed out with his bare left hand, using a sweeping motion across his body to make contact with the wooden blade before it touched him, sending the wooden sword flying from my hand. Even as my eyes tried to comprehend what was happening, he made his own move, stepping forward to strike me hard in the stomach with the end of his vitus, which he held in his right hand. Now I was the one who was sure that I was going to die, despite wearing my armor, and I dropped to the ground as if I had been ordered to fling myself down, so violently did I hit the ground. I am not sure how long I was out; it could not have been that long because everyone was still clustered around me, leaning over with a combination of worry and malicious glee. Vibius looked worried, while Didius grinned like it was the happiest day of his life. Optio Vinicius was the only one not bent over. Instead, he stared down at me impassively, hands behind his back, watching as I slowly crawled to my feet.
“I thought for sure you were dead,” Vibius exclaimed, thumping me on the back in relief.
“So did I,” I answered honestly, slowly pulling myself erect, my pride fighting to overcome the searing pain in the pit of my stomach where he had hit me. That night, when I removed my armor and pulled up my tunic, I sported a huge bruise as big around as my fist on my stomach, which stayed with me for several weeks, turning all sorts of interesting colors.
“Do you know why I was able to do that?” Optio Vinicius asked politely.
I considered the question. To me the answer was obvious; he was simply quicker than I had been, yet I knew that was not the answer he was looking for, so I thought carefully. Slowly, the answer came to me, and as the look of understanding came to my face, he smiled slightly.
“Because my thumb was exposed,” I answered, and he rewarded me with a nod.
And therein lay the secret. The thumb is the weakest part of the hand. The normal method of holding the sword is by wrapping the hand around the hilt, with the thumb on the outside of the fingers. When pressure is applied in the right direction by a sudden violent force, against the base of the thumb, it is too weak to maintain its position. By wrapping the fingers over the thumb, the thumb is supported and protected. While it is true that if one were to fight barehanded in this manner it would break your thumb, the pommel and guard of the sword provide enough protection to prevent this from happening on those occasions you use that end of the sword in a fight. Despite the obvious evidence I was still not convinced, because there was one disadvantage that I could see. I debated opening my mouth, yet to this point he was almost gentle with us, despite the ache in my stomach, which I had asked for, after all.
“But…” I started, unsure of how to continue, and again I was rewarded with that slight smile.
“But,” he finished for me, “the problem with that grip is that it restricts your blade from moving laterally, so that you don’t have the same freedom of movement. Is that what you were about to say?”
“Yes, Optio,” I answered excitedly, although to be honest I was not sure that was what I was going to say until he did it for me.
He nodded again, and replied, “You're correct, tiro…..?”
“Pullus, Optio. Titus Pullus.”
“You're correct, tiro Pullus that at first your movement is more restricted. But,” he said this with the quiet confidence of a man who knew what he was about, “you’ll regain that with practice. By the time I’m finished with you, nobody will be able to tell how you grip your weapon.”
He turned to the others and finished, “Except that you’ll be alive, and your enemy dead.”
Of course he was right. And it did not take nearly as long as I thought it would. By the end of the second day, I felt almost as comfortable using the new grip as I had the old. The only men who experienced difficulty with it were the men with smaller hands who did not have as much length in their fingers to wrap around their thumb sufficiently. To compensate for this, Optio Vinicius prescribed special exercises for them to strengthen their hands, exercises that once I saw them performing, I began as well. Vinicius had them thrust their hands into a bucket of sand, with their fingers splayed out. Once their hand was buried in the sand, they drew their fingers in as if they were grabbing a handful of sand. It is an extremely effective exercise, and my hands are still strong because of those exercises. Once we became accustomed to the new grip, Vibius and I started demonstrating that we were indeed more skilled than our comrades, a fact that did not escape the notice of Pilus Prior Crastinus. It was toward the end of the third day working on the stakes that I became aware of the Pilus Prior standing nearby, watching me with narrowed eyes. Unnerved, I struggled to concentrate on my work, the sweat running freely off of me while my arms, having been hardened and conditioned to such labor, still contained a great deal of energy, reflected in my thrusts.