It was not until a full month passed that we began working together as a whole Legion, with every Cohort, and we were full strength for the first time and one of the last Centuries to be so. I am not sure, but I would guess that we started losing men within the first three to four months of our existence, by virtue of illness or desertion, and it is only just now becoming standard practice, 40 years later, that replacements are placed within a particular Legion. However, back then, once we attained our full complement of men, every one lost from that point was one less in the Legion. Even so, it was an amazing sight to see upwards of 6,000 men standing in formation, rank after rank, Century after Century, the Cohorts lined up in their order. We, being the First Century of the Second Cohort were privileged to be fairly close to the front of the formation, giving us a better view of the proceedings when the Tribunes and the other officers gathered together. My height also helped with the view, except when we were in full dress uniform with everyone wearing their horsehair plumes, which was nothing but a damn nuisance. I am as proud of being a Legionary as any man who has ever served Rome, but I was never much for the pomp and polish, and I always hated those formations where some prig of a Tribune or Legate decided to flex his muscle and call for a dress inspection for no other reason than he could. Luckily for us, once Caesar took command and we began fighting, that sort of nonsense was kept to a minimum. Ironically, the times we wore our full dress uniform the most often was going into battle under Caesar, because he believed it help the men fight harder. This I did not mind as much because it had a point to it.
Speaking of Caesar, the occasion of our first full formation as a Legion, carrying all of our gear no less, was also where I first laid eyes on the man. I must say that I was somewhat disappointed. He was shorter than I was by a few inches and somewhat slight, with very fair complexion and features. I did not know it at the time, but no matter how much time in the sun he spent, and he was in the elements as much as we were, he never turned brown the way we did. Some of the boys said it was proof of his noble birth; there were others who were not so gracious, saying it proved that he was womanish and that the rumors of his liaison with the king of Bithynia were true as well. I was not yet confident enough in those days, but before long any man who uttered such nonsense in my presence would have trouble on their hands of a sort that they did not want.
However, that day, I was not impressed to say the least. Caesar mounted the rostra, giving a speech of welcome to us, noting that although we had been here for varying lengths of time, we gathered as a Legion just that day, making welcoming us appropriate. Despite my lack of awe at his appearance, I will say that he gave very good speeches. He was not like some of the patricians that took a turn at leading us, who would talk to us like we were children or spoke to us of high-flown principles and ideals, for which none of us gave a rotten fig. No, Caesar spoke plainly, and I could see that I was not the only one who appreciated it. He did spend some time telling us how we were upholding the finest traditions of Rome, and how under his command we would make our ancestors proud, yet it was not overdone. Such rhetoric is like adding spice to a stew; the right amount, and it makes for a memorable meal, one that you will tell others about for days to come. Too much, however, ruins it, and while it still is memorable, it is for the wrong reasons. So we stood and listened while he told us that he would always lead from the front, indeed starting that day, then when he was finished he stepped down from the rostra, turning over command to the Tribune in nominal command of the Legion. Such was my first physical contact with the man who would lead us down the path to our destiny.
After he stepped down he strode to the PortaPraetorium, the main gate of the camp, and leading us, took us on our first long march. To that point, once we were integrated with our Century and our Century with our Cohort, we had started forced marches, but they were all out a certain distance then back to the camp. All this was done with the goal of building us up to this moment when we were going to put in a full day’s march, then make a marching camp for the first time. None of my tent section had been present for the building of the camp that we were staying in at that time, with the exception of Sergeant Calienus; because it was a semi-permanent camp, we had only been involved in work details making improvements. Although we had never stayed outside of the camp at the end of a march, we always carried all of our gear, some of it put in the wicker basket that is then attached to the pack, which we carried over our shoulder using a stick with a crossbar called a furca, to which we attached everything. Our shield, in its leather cover, was strapped to our back, our helmet attached to that. We wore our arms and armor, carrying a javelin in our left hand to serve as a staff, while our second javelin we held in the same hand as our furca. For the tiros it meant carrying the wooden sword, which was attached to our belt with a leather thong instead of a scabbard, and practice pilum, and it was only when we were arrayed in such a manner that we could finally tell exactly how many veterans were among our comrades. It turned out that all of the leaders of each Century were veterans, along with the Sergeants of each tent section and a few Gregarii in each Century, so almost a quarter of the Legion appeared to be veterans.
Taking our spot in the column, we were marching in the lead spot just behind the command group, with the First Cohort serving as the vanguard, meaning that we did not have to worry about eating as much dust. This was something that we would learn to treasure, although on this first march we were more worried about how we would bear up, this being our first real test. The fact that just in front of us marched our commanding general, along with his bodyguard, all of whom rode while he walked, did not help with the pressure that we felt. And he set a cracking pace, quite a bit quicker than what we were accustomed to on our other marches, and for once I was thankful for my long legs. Normally, in standard close order drill I had to pay particular attention to avoid stepping on the back of the man in front of me, but with this type of route march we could stretch our legs a bit more. The weather was pleasant; it was still late spring, but my country is warmer than most places, and what felt pleasant to me I have learned is unbearably hot for others, mostly Gauls or people who come from those areas farther north. The first few miles passed easily enough, yet I could see others were struggling to varying degrees, the worst of them being Artorius. Both Pilus Prior Crastinus, and Optio Vinicius roamed up and down the length of the Century, using their vitus to encourage laggards. Between them, they must have easily covered twice the distance of our march. My admiration was tempered by the knowledge that they did not carry the same loads that we did, their gear being carried on one of the pack mules attached to our Century. Our tent section not only had its own pack mule but its own slave, a miserable little creature we called Lucco, who was responsible for guiding the mule to our final destination, wherever that was, among a variety of other duties. We stopped every two parts of a watch for a short break, during which we were allowed to ground our gear yet not allowed to sit down.
“Once you sit down we’ll never be able to get you up,” Sergeant Calienus explained, whose spot when we were in full formation was actually right in the middle of our rank. We were allowed to place our hands on our knees and bend over a bit in order to relieve some of the strain on our back brought on by the weight of our shield and helmet, but that was all. As we would find out later, once sufficiently conditioned we would be allowed to sprawl out in any position we chose, although someone would always be on guard, but until we reached that point we had to content ourselves with standing there. Despite being only slightly fatigued at this point, I could feel the strain of the load I was carrying and wondered how I would feel after more miles. During our rest, most of us talked quietly; Scribonius and I discussed our new general.