They shared wine and joked, played dice and spoke of home, each man telling Valerius in turn where they grew up, how long they had been in the army and of their families back home. He quickly came to like Pollo, who it turned out had been recommended for promotion to Optio, but he had turned it down twice preferring to ‘keep his feet on the ground’ he had said. He had been in the legion twelve years and had fought in Germania and had lost many friends but had gained a lot more, he assured him he would see ‘him right’ and he was true to his word.
Within the garrison during the winter, there was little else to do except train, build, create and train some more. Their training consisted of simulated battle formations using training swords where centuries would face each other, advance in their squares, shields locked, men braced against each other, locked together, front and back by way of harnesses at the rear of each legionary. Optios and centurions would shout and scream orders as the two sides clashed and fought for supremacy, often for bragging rights later. Bruises and black eyes were often common place and even the occasional broken bone from over exuberant participants, but these were hazards of the training.
Changing lines was practised over and over again as it was the most vulnerable time to be facing the enemy in a legionary square but the men on the front line couldn’t stay there indefinitely. After a period of time whilst fighting, usually decided upon by the centurion, and dependent on the circumstances, the front row would retreat and be replaced by the second row coming forward. The former front line would retreat to the rear where they could recover, have injuries dealt with or fall out of line completely if their injuries warranted it and so the tactic would continue.
Training such as this was absolutely essential for the individual to become a part of the unit and for the unit to work as one, like one huge machine knocking down their enemies before them. Likewise and equally essential was the testudo training, which a lot of legionaries actually preferred especially when they were the ones attacking their comrades in the defensive formation. Some centuries became so proficient in it that they were able to hold off two and in some cases, three other centuries while encased in the tortoise formation. Although primarily used for defensive purposes, there were times when it was also used to get a body of men into position in situations such as sieges or to advance whilst coming under attack from archers or slingers.
Practise at pilum throwing in squares was equally important, rotating the men, using the light javelin or heavy spear dependent on the situation, but there were also the more mundane duties such as guarding and kit cleaning, marching in unison, kit pole carrying, switching step from the military pace to the full pace. The military pace was used for tight formations such as preparing to face the enemy, whereas the full pace was used for marching long distances and would be used for the inevitable days marching from point A to point B. Out of the campaigning season, the centuries would also keep fit by running, although this was for physical conditioning, as charging into a fight was strenuously discouraged.
Other units trained within their specialisations, as Onager and Scorpion crews practised with their weapons on the training ranges as did the archers with their bows. So as the weeks went by, Valerius settled into the routine of training with his new comrades. He prepared himself as best as he could by getting to know those around him for the inevitable day when the Garrison’s gates opened once more and they marched out to face the enemy.
Chapter Fifteen
Varro was covered in a fine sheen of sweat by the time Lita reached them. Brenna and Grattius looked up as she came forward through the undergrowth followed by a group of strangers, it was clear they were locals. They were dressed in heavy hooded skins, lean faces peering at the prone figure of Varro.
“I told them about our friend and they say we can go to their village, it’s not far from here,” She knelt down and felt Varro’s brow, “he can get shelter and warmth there and be properly looked after, he can’t stay here.”
The newcomers came forward and studied the centurion lying prone on the ground, wrapped in blankets and then looked at Grattius. In unison they frowned because although Grattius was dressed in a similar fashion to them, his hair was cut short, instantly the atmosphere changed.
“Romani?” One of the males said, Brenna stood up.
“We’re here to find Caratacus,” she said turning to the optio, Grattius looked furious, clearly thinking that she was about to reveal the nature of why they were there, he was right. “This man,” she went on pointing at Varro, “and his companion here, have a very important message for Caratacus. It is of the greatest importance that we find him but this one is too ill to travel.” She knelt down again and touched the sleeping centurion’s brow. “He has a fever,” Varro murmured something but it was unintelligible, “see.” She showed her palm and it was covered in sweat. “They are not here to hurt you,” she looked at their suspicious faces, “they are here to try and help, to stop the trouble between your people and those of Rome.”
The man who had spoken stepped forward, hand inside his fur, he spoke to Lita in his tongue, her language, but Brenna didn’t understand although she heard the word Roman or Romani mentioned a few times as the man looked from Lita to Varro and occasionally to Grattius. The others behind him listened intently, while the optio fidgeted, eyes fixed on the man’s covered hand. At one point the conversation got heated and it was clear that Lita was arguing their case, why they had brought Romans to their land. The Silures’ head cocked to one side taking in the information repeatedly and then he would ask questions and look back at the others who had come with him. Eventually he seemed satisfied by the answers given.
Lita spoke to Brenna and Grattius, “He says we are lucky that we found him, if I’d gone to the next settlement, we would all be dead by now as they hate the Romans there. He said his family are tired of the fighting, young men going away, some not returning, he wants an end to the war but does not know how Caradoc will react. He does not go by the name Caratacus anymore because it is too Roman, he said. He has agreed to take us in while Varro is ill and in the meantime will send one of his sons to find their leader. He says that we must do everything he asks or we’ll find ourselves in grave danger along with his family and he won’t risk that.”
“Tell him he has my thanks and that we’ll do everything he tells us to do, we aren’t here to cause trouble to him or his family.” Brenna said. Lita spoke to him again and although he looked far from happy about the situation, he nodded his agreement. He then spoke to the males behind him, who could have been his sons Grattius thought. They then stepped forward and lifted Varro up and began carrying him the way they had come. He was carried to the waiting horses and draped onto one face down. Grattius nodded at them and was allowed to climb up onto the horse. He would ride him to wherever they were going. He felt hopeless and silently cursed the gods for finding himself in this situation.
They rode slowly for a while, the Britons on their own mounts, heads covered against the rain. After a while they began to follow a winding stream and in time came to a group of roundhouses nestled on a bend near the water’s edge. The man, clearly the leader of the group or possibly their father, spoke to Lita who told Brenna that this was their home. She smiled in response but the man just looked at her and raised his eyebrows, a determined look in his eye.
“Don’t worry, we are here to help.” She said. Lita translated her words but he just turned and rode on.