“Already been happening,” Camillus said with a wink. “Who do you think answers most of the imperial post from here? Hell, I’ve even got access to the legate’s signet ring and can place the official seal on absolutely anything I send out!”
The double-doors to the left of Camillus’ desk opened and out walked a stooped old man that Artorius could only surmise was Legate Glabrio. He had a pleasant demeanor about him, but he looked rather frail and his eyes were both squinted. Both men still stood at attention, deferring respect to Glabrio’s rank, regardless of any personal doubts they may have harbored regarding his leadership abilities.
“Ah, Camillus,” he said. “Anything of interest come in the imperial post today?”
“Yes, sir. A dispatch informing us that Aulus Plautius is being appointed commander-in-chief of the Rhine Army.”
“Plautius,” the legate said, furrowing his brow. “Oh, yes, I remember him! Quite the spry, driven young man. Well, if that is all, then I shall retire for the evening.”
Artorius shot Camillus a quick glance, puzzled at the legate’s remark, given that it was still midafternoon. The aquilifer subtly shook his head.
“One more thing, sir,” Camillus said. “Our new primus pilus has arrived.”
“Oh, and who is he?” It took a moment for Glabrio to notice Artorius, who finally spoke.
“Master Centurion Artorius, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Yes, well I’m sure Camillus can fill you in on everything. I swear he knows more about what goes on within this legion than any of us! You two carry on, then.”
“Sir!” both men replied as they watched Glabrio slowly walk out of the foyer.
He seemed puzzled for a moment that it was still broad daylight, but then shrugged and continued on his way.
“Not the reception you were expecting,” Camillus said with a cocked grin.
“Not at all.” Artorius shook his head, completely baffled by what he’d just seen. “He looks more like someone’s great-grandfather who should be rocking children on his knee, rather than the commander of an imperial legion. And if I recall, Plautius is approaching fifty…”
“He’s forty-six,” Camillus corrected.
“Yes, well that’s still hardly a ‘spry young man’, as our legate assessed.”
“I didn’t bother telling him what else came in the post,” Camillus said, his demeanor serious as he tossed a pile of dispatches onto his desk. “You’ll want to read through these later, as they are quite detailed, laying out the plans for next year’s shifting of forces within the empire. Fortunately, our task is pretty simple.”
“Oh?” Artorius asked as he started to scan the top parchment.
“Sure. All we have to do is hold in place and keep training, while also serving as a staging area for rations and equipment.”
“That means the fortress is going to get rather crowded,” Artorius observed.
“Granted,” Camillus acknowledged. “Still, our remaining static is a good thing; as it will give all of our newer senior leaders sufficient time to assimilate into their positions. We also have one of the shortest routes to the debarkation point, whenever the invasion does launch.”
“Any idea where it will be from?” Artorius asked as he quickly scanned several of the pages.
“One dispatch mentioned Gesoriacum,” the aquilifer answered. “It’s about two weeks march from here and only perhaps twenty miles from the Britannic coast. And in the meanwhile, you may as well take some time getting to know the First Cohort. With every other responsibility being dumped on you, you won’t be able to spend nearly as much time with them as you’d like, even though they will be the ones you lead into battle.”
“Well, at least I have Magnus and Praxus to help me there,” the master centurion noted. He then handed the dispatches back to Camillus. “Do me a favor and put these in my office. I’ll start going through them this evening.” He started to walk away before stopping and saying over his shoulder, “And Camillus, do keep the legate’s signet ring, but let me know before you send any official correspondence from here.”
He left the principia feeling a little perplexed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected his return to the legions to feel like; it was an odd amalgamation of familiar and foreign. And given the caliber of the legates he’d served under throughout his career, he was extremely disappointed in his current legion commander. A legate was expected to be old enough, with sufficient experience, that he could make sound tactical and strategic decisions on his own, even with little to no time for deliberation. He also had to be young and fit enough that he had the stamina for running a sustained campaign, while also setting the example for his men. In the few minutes he had seen him, Artorius surmised that Glabrio possessed none of these traits. All the same, he understood that it was not up to him to decide whether or not a senatorial legate was fit for command. Nor could he influence the emperor in who should command the legion. His duty now was to enforce the standards of training, discipline, and conduct within the legion. He owed that to his legionaries!
He decided to begin with an assessment of his own First Cohort. He walked over to the drill field and found one of their centuries practicing individual weapons drill on the six-foot training stakes. An optio was pacing the line, shouting commands to his men, who would then either smash the thick poles with their shields or attack with their wooden practice gladii. The first thing that stood out about these men was their age. Acceptance into the elite First Cohort was restricted mostly to those with at least sixteen years in the ranks, who had proven themselves in battle, and who were noted for a career of distinguished conduct. Some legions boasted that they required their men to be of a certain height as well, giving them a more formidable appearance. However, one thing Artorius had noted in his career was that one’s fighting prowess had little to do with how tall he was.
Given that the First Cohort was always kept at full strength, sometimes exceptions for membership were made for soldiers who were slightly younger, yet had still acquitted themselves well throughout their careers. Even so, Artorius noted there was not a man on the training field who looked younger than thirty. Indeed, most of the legionaries who assailed the training stakes appeared to be anywhere from their early thirties to just over forty. And because they were exempt from guard duty and fatigue details, all they ever did was train to fight. A legionary in the First Cohort was also paid as much as a decanus in a regular line century. The incentives for membership were enormous, as were their expected standards and fighting capabilities.
The optio blew his whistle and the men ceased in their exertions. “Stand easy!” he shouted. “Squad leaders, assess your sections!”
“Optio,” Artorius said as he stood behind the man, who quickly turned to face him.
“Sir?” he asked; his eyes then growing wide as he recognized his new centurion primus pilus. “By Mars! Hey, lads, it’s our new master centurion!” He then saluted sharply, which Artorius returned.
“Which century are you?”
“First Century, sir!” the soldier replied with enthusiasm. “I guess this means I’m your optio…provided you’ll have me, sir. Name’s Parthicus; Titus Minicius Parthicus.”
“Titus Artorius Justus,” Artorius replied, extending his hand. “How long have your men been on the stakes?”
“About an hour,” the optio answered. “I’ve got the lads running in two-minute drills; two on, two off. That lets us simulate rapid passages-of-lines. And don’t let the age of these men fool you, sir. The First Cohort sets the standard in physical condition and battle readiness in this legion!”
“As it should be,” Artorius replied. “Come see me in my office after the evening mess. I need to at least get to know the man who will be leading my century. Between my duties to the cohort, as well as having to provide oversight to the rest of the legion, I doubt I will get to spend nearly as much time with these men as I ought.”