Artorius was still struggling mightily, and while he seemed to willingly put in the extra work to correct his deficiencies, of which there were many, I for one suspected that he was going through the motions rather than putting any real effort into his training. However, when I asked Vibius this question he bristled at the suggestion; apparently he had taken his tutoring of Artorius to heart.
“I believe he’s putting everything he has into his extra work,” Vibius snapped, his swarthy face flushing darker. “He can’t help it if he’s not as strong as you Titus. Not everyone is; in fact, few people are, yet you seem to think everything should come as easily to them as it does to you.”
That surprised me quite a bit. In my mind I was struggling just as much as anyone else, and this was the first I learned that there was a perception that the opposite was true. I could not hide my surprise when I answered, “Edepol! Who says that things come easily to me? I have to work just as hard as anyone else.”
Vibius looked at me steadily for a moment before replying quietly, “I know you think you do, but I don’t think you have the slightest idea just how much stronger and better you are than the rest of us. Haven’t you seen not just us, but the other men in the Century stop to watch you when you’re going through the drills?”
I shrugged. “What of it? I’m sure that they’re just watching me because I stick out, being so large.”
And that is truly what I thought at the time; I had been stared at most of my life because of my size, and it was simply something to which I had become accustomed. Vibius shook his head vigorously, and using his finger for emphasis, pointed to my chest and replied, “That’s not why at all, Titus. You make these drills look easy. I know; I hear the other men talking. There are even men betting on how many barbarians you’ll kill in our first battle.”
Now I was shocked. It is true that men in the Legions will bet on absolutely anything, but I had no idea that the others, including the veterans apparently, saw me in this light. My chest constricted as the thought settled into my mind and I realized the implications of it. Suddenly, I had a reputation to uphold, and I had yet to fight my first battle!
This revelation from Vibius rocked me, so I began surreptitiously watching others when they looked in my direction, trying to discern what their true thoughts were. I began feeling an enormous amount of pressure, whether it was warranted or not and soon found myself fretting about what might happen when we actually did go into battle. There had been rumblings for some time that the Legions were about to move out and begin campaigning. It was already late May, and the campaigning season was open for some time now, meaning a late start for us, but Caesar was forced to spend that time training us because we were a new Legion. Despite that, the word around the fires was that we would be moving soon, and it would be north, into the wilds of Hispania north of the Tanis River, to pacify the remaining tribe in the area, the Lusitani, who had revolted again. To that end, we were finally equipped with our real weapons, the sword that most of us would carry for as long as it lasted, and our two javelins, along with our shield, emblazoned with the symbol of the 10th Legion, the bull. My first thought was how ridiculously light the weapons were compared to the training weapons we had been using, but that is the point of our training. As I examined my blade, still unmarked from where I would work it with the sharpening stone to put as fine an edge on it as I could, I hefted its balance, trying to imagine thrusting it into the body of another man, rather than a stake. Glancing about, I could see all of my tentmates doing the same thing, and I wondered if I wore the same grin on my face.
It was about that time that Artorius fell out of his third march, despite Vibius’ almost frantic efforts to help him keep up, even as it caused the Pilus Prior to give Vibius a good thrashing for doing so. It did not help; less than halfway along our march back to our base camp Artorius fell out. We had suspected this as a likely event, it becoming clear to all of us that the effort of the extra training, along with the burden of our normal regimen was steadily wearing him down. He was barely able to eat the evening meal, sitting listlessly and chewing his bread with the same vigor as a cow chewing its cud. The next morning as we broke camp and made ready to begin the march back, he moved like a man sleepwalking, and it was so noticeable that the Pilus Prior came over to him to smack him in the face. That seemed to stir him a bit, and he was responsive when we formed up to begin the march back, then at some point after the first break he dropped from the ranks. Vibius did not notice straight away, but when he did he immediately fell out himself, trotting back to find Artorius, despite the cursed warning directed at him by the Pilus Prior. Optio Vinicius then went back to retrieve both of them and he returned shortly, along with Vibius carrying his own pack and Artorius’ as well, trying to balance both furcae, one on each shoulder, his face shining with perspiration from the exertion and strain. Artorius was being dragged by the arm by the Optio, who was trying to use encouragement instead of the threats that the Pilus Prior favored. All of this was taking place amid the normal noise and chaos of a march; the dust swirling all around from the tramping of thousands of feet, the clinking and clanking of gear as it bounced against each other, the steady underlying hum of the men talking to each other in snatched conversations, trying to pass the time. I will say that even for me it was hard to breathe and I was higher up than Artorius, so I could imagine how choking it was in his spot, which could not have helped. Looking over at him, I could see that his face was white as chalk, with a clammy look about it that we had learned indicated someone who was having trouble coping with the heat. His mouth hung open as he gasped for air, while his eyes would seem to focus for a moment, as if he was conscious of his surroundings, then begin wavering before rolling back in his head, whereupon he started stumbling again. The Optio would shake his arm, he would snap back to the present, then after a moment would drift off again. It was almost like he was falling asleep as he walked, something I had never seen before. Over the years, I would be on marches where all of us looked like that, but to that point he was the first to exhibit these signs, and I was morbidly fascinated.
By the time we made it to the second break, Artorius was nowhere to be seen, even when the bucina sounded the signal to begin the start of the last leg of the march. Vibius stood to the side until the last moment, looking to the rear of the column before getting another whack from the Pilus Prior and a snarled order to get into the ranks. Vibius was obviously hoping that Artorius would somehow come staggering up, but he did not. Continuing on, we finished the march, almost all of us not very fatigued from the effort except for Vibius, who had carried Artorius’ gear most of the way back. The last few miles Romulus and Remus, the nicknames we gave to the Mallius brothers, tried to relieve Vibius of his load, but he would have none of it and in fact got downright nasty about it.
“I don’t need any of you cunni helping me,” he snarled at Marcus, who we called Romulus, and I swear that if Vibius did not have his hands full he would have punched Romulus in the face. For his part, Romulus did not appreciate having his offer spurned in such a manner.
“Prick! I’m sorry I asked,” he snapped back, “and see if I ever offer to help you again.”
He turned away to complain to Remus about Vibius’ brutish behavior, the whole exchange drawing the jeers and catcalls of the men around us, prompting the Pilus Prior to suddenly appear in our midst and lash out with his vitus. There were times I really wanted to take that thing away from him and break it over his head.