“You could have come and got me first, you know!” Centurion Vitruvius’ booming voice interrupted his thoughts, and he almost dropped the weights.
“Sorry, I had to burn off some aggression first,” he replied without sounding apologetic. Vitruvius removed his tunic, revealing a taller, though almost equally well-muscled body. He leapt up and grabbed the bar and started to repeatedly pull his body up, working his back muscles. He then dropped to the ground and addressed his former protégé.
“If it’s about the new Pilus Prior, I understand.”
“At least you have command of your own century,” Artorius replied, dropping the weights. “You don’t have to answer to some pompous ass that has never had to draw his blade against the enemy.”
“Yes, not a good situation to be in,” the Centurion agreed. “To go from having Macro and Proculus to…well to be honest, I’m not sure what.”
“I don’t know,” Artorius grunted as he hefted an even greater sized boulder over his head. “I just hope that our fears are unfounded and things won’t be so bad. After all, Macro and Proculus could not stay with us forever. Perhaps we should give their replacements a chance.”
Vitruvius simply grunted as he walked over to where he had set up a pair of stone steps on a platform. There was a gap that was just large enough for a man to stand with his feet shoulder width apart. A large square block with a rope fixed to it sat in the hole. The Centurion squatted down, grabbed the rope in both hands, and proceeded to repeatedly lift the heavy weight out of the hole, his forearms, back, and legs threatening to tear through the skin as blood rushed to the engorged muscles. His face red from exertion, he dropped the block after several repetitions.
“So how’s the family?” Artorius asked as he set a boulder down after working his shoulders. His former mentor was down on one knee, catching his breath.
“Well enough,” Vitruvius replied. “Celia keeps me in line, and the boys are getting bigger and scrappier every day!” There was a broad grin on the Centurion’s face, which Artorius could not help but match. Vitruvius had married the daughter of a wine merchant soon after their return from Lugdunum. Though the family did a very respectable amount of business, in private, Vitruvius would complain that his father-in-law’s wine was overpriced and “tastes like mule piss!” Celia had born him twin sons, Marcus and Tiberius, the year before. It seemed like the two had learned to fight before they had even fully learned how to walk. They were always rolling on the ground, trying to beat each other, which their mother found appalling, especially since Vitruvius encouraged it.
“And what about you?” Vitruvius asked. “No comely young lady that’s caught your attention lately?”
“Eh, not for more than a couple hours at a time,” Artorius replied with a laugh as he stretched his arms and shoulders out. He had a few more exercises to do before heading over to the bathhouse. He was contemplating getting a full body massage while he was at it.
“Well, you’ve still got time,” the Centurion conjectured, while grabbing the rope for some more heavy dead-lifts with the stone block. “After all, you cannot legally get married until you’re a Centurion anyway.”
“I don’t worry about that,” the Optio replied. “Besides, there is only one woman I think I will ever truly love.” His last remark caused Vitruvius to drop the stone with a loud thump into the sand below.
“What the fuck, Artorius?” he asked sternly. “No one in Roman society marries for something as asinine and mythological as love! Marriage serves a practical function in life; it allows us to form bonds between houses, plus it gives us the legitimate means of producing the next generation of Romans. If a couple does grow to love one another, it is only after a number of years of being constantly in each other’s presence, but it’s not like it’s a condition of a successful marriage.”
“I know,” Artorius replied with a sigh. “I guess after Lady Diana I just became a bit idealistic is all.”
Vitruvius snorted in reply. “To hell with idealism,” he retorted. “No good ever came from a man being stricken with love for a woman, at least not before he was married to her for a number of years. Don’t believe me? Look what happened to Marc Antony!”
“Do you love Celia?” Artorius asked.
Vitruvius gave a shrug.
“I’m rather fond of her,” he conceded. “And she did give me two extraordinary sons! I confess she is a good woman, but love? In a few years, perhaps. You need to get such idealistic notions out of your mind. Only weak-willed effeminate poets write about such things as if they truly exist.”
“Yes, well, I suppose I need to spend a bit more time in the brothels then,” the Optio replied with a grin and a wink. It was only partially true. Though he enjoyed the physical pleasures of women, Artorius felt a lingering and hollow feeling since he had last seen Diana two years before. Perhaps it was because he still got the occasional letter from her that he allowed himself to hope. But Vitruvius was right; any such fanciful notions were nothing more than a sappy poet’s fantasy. And besides, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with.
Chapter III: A Disgrace in the Ranks
During the first week after Macro’s replacement arrived, the situation had been even worse than Artorius had anticipated. Fulvius was fat, to the point that the Optio wondered if he even had a set of armor that fit. He reeked of wine and cheap booze the minute he stepped into the Century’s main office, and without a word he had stepped into the Centurion’s quarters and slammed the door. He was rarely seen the first few days, not once making a century formation. Artorius explained to the men that their new Centurion was ill and that he would make his appearance to them soon enough. It soon became apparent that he was performing the duties of both Optio and Centurion. It was at the end of the first week that Fulvius made his presence known, at least to Artorius.
“Optio!” he shouted from the Centurion’s office. “Where the bloody hell is my Optio?” The legionary who had been assigned as the Centurion’s aide for the week was relieved when he saw that Artorius happened to be in the outer office. He quickly excused himself from the room as Artorius entered.
“You called for me, Centurion?” The Optio stood with his hands clasped behind his back, trying to hide his revulsion at the sight of his superior. Fulvius looked to have sobered up, though he was in need of a shave and looked like he had not bathed in a week. He had a parchment in his hand, which Artorius recognized as the Century’s duty roster for the month.
“There is a problem with this,” Fulvius said, holding the document up accusingly.
“It’s the monthly roster,” Artorius explained. “Where is the problem?”
“Your judgment fails you I see,” the Centurion said with a scowl. “The placement of legionaries on each duty seems to be done entirely at random. Those wishing to avoid the less desirable duties need to do so through a stipend to the Centurion.”
Artorius glared at him when he comprehended what Fulvius was saying.
“Each squad within the Century has an equal share of the burden,” he explained. “With the exception of those on immune status, all legionaries are required to pull the same duties.”
“No longer,” Fulvius retorted. “I want this list scrapped and revised with those who are willing to pay a stipend being exempt.”
“But that means the other legionaries will have to shoulder more of the burden!”