“Century!” he boomed as he looked back at the column of men. His heart was bursting with pride from the professional look of his legionaries. All were in full body armor with shield, javelins, and a bulging pack. Today’s march would be a full twenty-five miles. They would set up a camp for the night and head back in the morning. “Forward…march!”
A feeling of elation washed over Artorius as he led his men out the gate of the fortress. The knowledge that he was now a Centurion was finally becoming a reality to him. Rufio was at his side with the Century’s Signum. Magnus, now the Tesserarius, was at the front of the legionaries. Optio Praxus walked in the very back where his purpose was to monitor the pace and watch for stragglers. Diana was standing by the gate and raised her hand, her pride in Artorius evident as she waved to them as they passed through, a broad smile on her face.
“Ave, my lady!” the legionaries shouted in unison, causing Artorius’ face to turn red and a playful laugh from Diana.
“Did you put them up to that?” Artorius asked over his shoulder.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Magnus replied, his broad grin revealing his guilt.
Artorius had tried to set their departure to coincide with the time between sunrise and when the streets of Cologne became crowded with citizens about their daily business. As they marched through the streets, shopkeepers who were opening up their places of business stopped to watch them pass by. A few small children even waved at them. A variety of street urchins stumbled beside the column, imitating the legionaries’ march. Once out of town it was rolling hills, copses of trees, and fields as far as the eye could see.
It was still the first part of spring, and the air was cool. Still, the sun shone brightly and the exertion of the march felt good. The Century kept a modest pace of roughly three miles an hour. This was reasonable for men who were weighted down with armor, weapons, and full packs. The nights in Germania were still chilly this time of year, so each man had his cloak stuffed into his pack. Artorius closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Whether it was the relief of the recent ordeals being over, the fact that he now commanded the Second Century, or if it really was just the most beautiful of days, he did not know; nor did he care. The miles seemed to slip by, and by midday they had already covered nearly twenty miles. At twenty-five miles Artorius pointed to the top of a small hill with a single tree adorning the top.
“Place the standard up there,” he directed Rufio.
“Yes sir,” the Signifier replied, taking off at a moderate jog up the gentle slope of the hill. Once at the top, he found a good place over by the tree to post the standard. The rest of the Century would form up around him. He slammed the spiked bottom of the Signum into the ground, drew his gladius, and gave a loud battle cry.
“Second Century!” Artorius shouted. “At the double-time…action left…to the standard!”
A loud shout echoed from the ranks as the Century did a sharp left face and then, in step, started to jog up the hill. Once they came to where Rufio stood, his gladius still raised, they split off to the left and right, the Decanii guiding their squads to the appropriate staging areas. Magnus oversaw the placement while Artorius and Praxus stopped in front of Rufio. The Centurion was breathing hard, but still grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re sweating, sir,” Rufio observed as he sheathed his gladius.
Artorius and Praxus dropped their packs and removed their helmets, sweat trickling down their necks and faces. “A Centurion never carries his own pack either.”
“Soldiers will follow those who foremost lead by example,” Artorius retorted. He then looked around and saw that the Century was all positioned where they needed to be.
“A bit out of practice, but they’ve still got it,” Praxus observed.
Artorius gave an affirmative nod before shouting his next order. “Stack your gear and weapons by squads! Set up sentry shifts…Decanii report when complete!”
Shields were set upright with a single javelin holding it in place. Legionaries paired up and helped each other out of their heavy armor, each man stacking his in front of his shield then placing his helmet on top. Gladii were still worn on the hip. In lieu of palisade stakes, each soldier took his second javelin and stuck it, butt first and angled, in the ground on the outside of their section; a wall of evenly spaced javelins forming their perimeter. A pair of legionaries guarded the front entrance of their small camp, two more the back. Within minutes of Artorius giving the order the entire camp was set and all squad leaders gathered in his area. He and the Principal Officers had also removed their armor and, in spite of the cool spring afternoon, each man had perspired freely from the exertion of the march.
“Well done,” he told the assembled squad leaders. “Check your men for blisters on the feet and any other health problems that may have arisen. Also spot check their equipment, especially their caligae sandals, and make certain they’re still serviceable. After that the men can rest and break for their afternoon meal.”
“Yes, sir,” the Decanii answered together before departing.
Artorius walked over to the large shade tree and sat down against it, removing his sandals.
“Damn that feels good!” he told Praxus, who sat across from him on the grass, also removing his footwear.
“You chose the perfect day to take the men out,” the Optio replied. “I think after all they’ve been through, they needed this. Doubtless they will be cursing the cold come nightfall, but for now all is right with them.”
“I put the word out that they all needed to pack at least an extra blanket,” Artorius reminded him. “I’m the worst when it comes to the cold, so if I can handle it they should be just fine.”
As he finished speaking Rufio and Magnus walked over. The Signifier was eating an apple and stretching out his back.
“Any thoughts on what you want the lads to do for the rest of the day?” Magnus asked. “I know we’re not in hostile territory, so the men can be more at ease. I just thought we’d have something for them to do this afternoon.”
“There’s wild boar in this region,” Praxus observed. “Maybe some of our best javelin throwers should be sent off on a little hunt.”
“I like it,” Artorius agreed. “Have each squad send its best javelin thrower out. They’ll all go together, I don’t want anyone getting lost or gored by a boar. Tell them five denarii awaits whoever brings down a boar with his javelin first. Have some of the others dig us a pit and gather firewood, also have them refill our water bladders with fresh spring water; there’s a source nearby. Provided our javelin throwers hit their targets, we should have us some spitted boar for supper.”
That evening would see the Second Century gathered over a large fire, a pair of boars roasting on spits. To no one’s surprise, Legionary Gavius had proven his mettle as the best javelin thrower in the Century, downing a running boar from a distance of nearly twenty meters. Another legionary had brought down a boar as well, after a struggle in a thicket. Even though Gavius had killed his first, Artorius had elected to grant both men the five denarii stipend, which was approximately a week’s pay for a legionary.
“Not quite as good as the boars back home, mind you,” Magnus said with his mouth full. He took a drink off his water bladder and lay back with his hands behind his head. Artorius, too, took a long drink of the cool fresh water and let out a relaxed sigh. The night was cold, and his breath fogged in front of him. He wrapped his cloak around himself and leaned back against the tree.