The next morning, if that is what it could be called, it being at least two parts of a watch before first light, I was as sore as I had ever been during my training with Cyclops, and judging from the slow movements and groans of my comrades, I was not alone. I had used muscles previously unstrained, at least to this extent, and I was hard pressed to determine where the soreness came from, the marching or the digging. Either way, we were awakened by the call of the bucina, whereupon we got up and packed the gear that we would be carrying, leaving the striking of the tents to the slaves, who performed this task while we ate our morning meal. We were now going to march back to the base camp, except this time we would not be in the lead. It was our turn in fact to take up the rear; it is in this manner that no Cohort can complain that they are mistreated. Everyone shares equally in all the unpleasant duties in the army, which is one of the things that makes us stronger and bonds us together as much, if not more than, combat itself. There is no glue like shared misery.
The march back was going to be an ordeal, since we were still sore from the day before, the only slightly cheerful thought being that because the camp back home already existed, at least we would not have to dig. At least, so we thought, until we were informed that before we began the march back we were going to go to the spot where we had dug the ditch the day before, and fill it back in. This was not a punishment, because every other Century involved in digging the ditch was doing the same thing. Fortunately it did not take nearly as long to fill it in as it did to dig it. As we marched away, the early morning sky was lit by fire as the guard towers and the wooden structures that were not part of the palisade made by our carried stakes was put to the torch. It was on the occasion of this first march that we were introduced to this practice, one that if the truth be known, bothered us probably more than anything. On the march during a campaign, we never left a camp intact, and despite the fact we could all see the sense in doing so, it still pained us to see the fruits of our sweat and labor destroyed, every day. Speaking only for myself, it was something I never became accustomed to, despite the hundreds, maybe thousands of times I have done so.
It was on the way back that Artorius fell out of the ranks and despite the curses of the Pilus Prior, could not be induced to keep his place in the march. Finally, he was abandoned, to the disgust of the Pilus Prior, Optio and, truth be known, the rest of us. Weakness is not tolerated in the Legion, and no matter how we might have sympathized to a degree, none of us were doing any more or any less than Artorius. The fact that he was weak physically was not his crime, at least in my mind. It was his mental weakness that I found most damning. I know now that I was being unkind; I tended, and still tend, to view others as if they were me, that they were born as big and strong as I was, and that is not usually the case. It is a failing, the gods know, and I hope that I have mellowed with age. It also did not help that we were the tail end of the column, eating the dust of the rest of the Legion, yet I suspect that he would have fallen out even if we were in our place of the day before. He finally came staggering into camp a full third of a watch after we arrived, and he was warned that two more such failures would result in his dismissal from the Legion, a fate that he did not seem to be entirely unhappy about. Our general, meanwhile, had marched at the head of the Legion both days, never showing any sign of fatigue, and as we were to learn, this was not just a case of Caesar showing off. He would always walk when we walked, and lived as we live, as much as it was possible for him to do so; being a general there are certain requirements when dealing with others that elevate him above the rest of us. However, he ate what we ate, drank what we drank, and in his actions began to form a bond with us that is famous to this day. Never before, even in the days of Pompey Magnus or the great Scipio Africanus, has a general been loved in the way we in the 10th loved Caesar, and the foundation for that love was formed on that first march, and strengthened in the months to come. Although as it would turn out, not all of us shared the same feelings about our general.
Our training continued; we learned the battle formations, the acies triplex, the aciesduplex, down to the formations that only Centuries used, such as the famous testudo, which is known and feared throughout the world. Our weapons training continued as well, now with the shield, and we also began work throwing the javelins. Once we got over the slight bump in the beginning of our relationship, Optio Vinicius and I seemed to form a bond. Perhaps he recognized in me someone as devoted to the learning of the skills of arms as he was, yet whatever the reason, I became his star pupil, something that did not please Didius. I was still constantly scrutinized and criticized, but not only had I become accustomed to it, I recognized what it meant. However, along with the status came the responsibility. I was always the subject for the new lessons to be learned so that I took the bumps and bruises first, something that was lost on Didius. He began muttering choice names for me under his breath, loud enough for the others to hear but not me, some of them finding what he was saying witty enough to laugh. Growing more and more in my dislike for Didius, I consoled myself with the idea that soon enough, we would be squaring off one on one with the wooden sword. Then we would see who was laughing.
Proving that the Optio was not oblivious to what was going on, the very first day that we finally had progressed enough that we could begin beating on each other, he pitted me against Didius. Of course, the way it was expressed to us was not that we had progressed, but that Rome could not afford to wait the ten years it would take us to know the sharp end of a sword before we continued in the pursuit of our enemies.
Still, when the Optio beckoned to me and Didius and told us to square off, he whispered in my ear, “I’m not deaf. The only thing I’ll tell you is that you’re forbidden to kill him. Understand?”
I nodded, but I had to swallow down the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. Despite my confidence, any time you face an adversary that you have never faced before, there is some trepidation. I cursed myself that I had not paid any attention to Didius’ work on the stakes so that I would have an idea of his weaknesses, but that vessel was already broken and could not be mended now. For his part, Didius did not appear to be his usual, blustery confident self, for which I was grimly satisfied. Approaching each other, both of us in the first position, I instantly saw that Didius showed a weakness in his grip of the shield, holding it in a slightly tilted manner and not in the direct vertical way that we were taught. I tucked that away, because I had decided that I did not want a quick kill. No, my goal that day was to completely dominate him, embarrass him and leave no doubt who was the master.
Looking back on that decision now, with the blessing of hindsight and age, I wonder if I had been satisfied with just a straightforward end to our bout whether things would have been different. Somehow I think that Didius and I were destined to clash, but the truth is that this might be the wishful thinking of an old man; only the gods truly know. In the moment, however, I slowly circled Didius, taking the role of the attacker, and observing him I could see he was actually afraid.