Suddenly, his voice dropped back to normal, and he continued talking, as if there was nothing untoward taking place an instant before.
“On your feet boy. And look straight ahead, you got that?”
I pulled myself to my feet, a little unsteadily, but before I could answer, he continued.
“Of course, none of you know what my proper title or my name is, because you haven’t been taught such things. So we’ll begin with that. My name is Lucius Favonius, and I’m the Primus Pilus of the Tenth Legion. I know that the title means nothing to you now, but you’ll learn what it means in time. Right now, all you need to know is that as far as you’re concerned, I and anyone who wears this,” he pointed to his helmet, “are to be considered on the same level as the gods you worship, because like the gods, we exercise the power of life and death over each of you.”
I gulped; this was not going exactly as I had seen it in my mind’s eye, and I wondered how Vibius was taking this. My gut was still throbbing, and my head still ringing, so it was hard to pay attention, but I knew that what I was being told was important.
“I’ll escort you to the Praetorium,” he turned and pointed at a huge tent, dead in the middle of the camp, several hundred feet away.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned to stride away, with all of us following quickly behind him. When we drew close, he stopped us several paces away from the entrance. Standing in front of it were two Legionaries, obviously on guard duty, and similarly to the Praetor’s residence, the area around the tent was a bustle of activity as soldiers and civilians came and went into it. As I was to learn, anywhere our commanding general, the Praetor Julius Caesar, was located, it was always like a beehive.
“You’ll hand in those tokens, and you’ll then return to that spot outside the Praetorium, where you’ll get into the exact same line you’re in now, facing the tent, and you’ll wait for me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Primus Pilus,” I answered quickly, before anyone else had a chance to answer, catching him a bit by surprise.
He looked at me for a moment before giving a harsh chuckle.
“Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look, boy.”
You have no idea, I thought grimly, but I am going to take your job, old man.
Turning in our tokens to a clerk, we gave our name, which was matched up to the documents that were created as part of our records and sent from the Praetor’s residence the day before. On turning in our tokens, we were informed that we were now no longer probatios, but had achieved the lofty status of tirones, or tiros as we were more commonly called, when of course we were not called all manner of other names. None of us had any idea what the distinction was, or why it mattered, although we would learn, and the difference was actually quite important. As probatios, while subject to some of the rules and regulations governing the army, it was not the complete set, so that if we ran afoul of one of those rules during our brief time in that status, the range of our punishment was limited. The status of probatio usually lasted longer because normally the conquistores were out in the countryside and would march groups of new recruits to the training camp, but it was not necessary in our case. However, as tirones, we were now under the full authority of the Roman Legion, meaning that we could be flogged, or worse, executed for a breach of the rules, if deemed serious enough. We were then presented with another document that we were told to sign, something I found impossible to read because it seemed to be in some sort of language that I did not understand. I would come to master it and read it as easily as I read any document written in the normal fashion, but it would take some time. Back then, I just signed like everyone else and was informed that this involved our pay.
“So when do we get our pay?” piped up the one I had marked as being the loudmouthed great warrior.
His name was Spurius Didius, and he was also on the tall side, standing third from the end where I stood. He had a sly look about him, always peering about like he was searching for something to steal, which as it turned out, was exactly what he was doing, but that is for later. The clerk looked up in surprise at the question, then burst out laughing.
“Why don’t you ask the Primus Pilus about that?” he replied, and I sensed that this would not be a good idea, something that Didius obviously did not pick up on, as he exclaimed loudly, “I’ll do just that.”
Once we turned in our tokens and signed our documents, we went outside and fell into our positions in line more quickly than the first time. There was just enough time for Vibius to whisper a quick question about how I was doing, and I reassured him that I was fine, if still hurting a bit. However, I was determined that I learned my lesson and would let someone else make the mistakes from here on in. Standing in line again, we waited for what seemed like a full watch and I sensed, as did some of the others, that this was some sort of test, so I made sure to stand as still as I could and not look around.
The waiting turned out to be too much for some, and I heard someone whisper loudly, “Pluto’s cock, what are they waiting for?”
Instantly I heard quick footsteps, followed by the sound of what had to be a stick smashing into someone’s body, then a thud as the man fall to the ground, the unfortunate gasping for air much like I had.
“Did anyone tell you to speak, cunnus?” it was the voice of the Primus Pilus.
“N-no, Primus Pilus,” the man managed to gasp.
“Then on your feet, you pathetic piece of cac”, the Primus Pilus spoke scornfully. “I didn’t hit you near as hard as I did the oaf on the end, so get up and quit sniveling like a woman.”
The Primus Pilus reappeared in front of us, but instead of turning my head to look again, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He wore the same expression on his face, except this time he was not alone. Standing next to him, in identical uniform, though without quite as many phalarae, torqs and arm rings, was a slightly taller, slender man, who also looked a bit younger. He bore a scar down the right side of his face, from the middle of his ear to midway down his jaw, giving him a look of wickedness, and he too was carrying the same kind of stick as Primus Pilus Favonius, although he stood slightly behind the Primus Pilus.
Indicating the second Centurion, Primus Pilus Favonius announced, “This is Secundus Pilus Prior Gaius Crastinus. He's the commander of the Second Cohort of the Tenth Legion. You’ll accompany him to the quartermaster, where you’ll be issued your equipment. You’ll obey him in the same manner you obey me, or you’ll wish you had never been born. Is that understood?”
This time, we responded in a more unified manner, although it still did not impress the Primus Pilus, or the Pilus Prior for that matter. The two Centurions exchanged a quiet word before the Primus Pilus disappeared into the Praetorium, leaving us to the tender mercy of Pilus Prior Crastinus.
“Right,” he called out, “the first thing we’re going to learn is how to go from one point to another without looking like a mob. Understood?”
“Yes, Pilus Prior,” we answered.
“The first thing you cunni need to know is how to stand correctly,” he continued.
I was somewhat surprised; I did not know until that moment that there was a right and wrong way to stand!
As if reading my mind, he said, “As you’ll learn, there are only two ways of doing things in the Legions. The Legion way and the wrong way. When you hear the command Intente, you’ll come to the position that I’m about to show you.”
He demonstrated; pulling himself erect, he looked straight ahead, pulling his chin in, with his chest out, his feet together and his arms straight down by his sides.