“We should offer an initial sacrifice to the gods,” the druid replied. “And first must be those nobles of the Atrebates that continue to resist your rule.”
“Agreed,” Caratacus concurred. He was far more devout in his theological beliefs than his brother, who simply viewed religion as a means of controlling the ignorant masses. “There are six we have imprisoned; four men, two women. It will be a fitting offering. Conduct the sacrifice tomorrow at dawn.” The old druid nodded in reply.
“There are only two ways to rule people,” Togodumnus added, “fear and love. It will be some time before the people of Atrebates grow to love you, though defeat of the Romans will aid in this. But for now, my brother, you must use fear as your device of control.”
It was an hour before sunrise when Artorius joined the men of the First Cohort’s First Century. Due to the necessity of an early rise, he had kept his meeting with Optio Parthicus the night before very short. He reasoned there would be time to get to know the man better as time went on. Magnus had spoken well of him, and so far it seemed he had firm control over the century, which was enough for Artorius.
“The rain pissed on us good last night,” Parthicus noted as the master centurion joined his men.
The century’s one hundred and sixty men were stretching and limbering up as they made ready for the day’s exertion.
“Ground will be a little soggy for the first couple miles, but the skies promise to be rather clear today. At least I saw some blue skies to the west, where the wind is coming from.”
“Five miles out, five miles back,” a decanus said as he stretched his lower back. Though he had marched endless miles in his years in the ranks, this was the first time Artorius had been with an entire unit that was readying to run such a distance.
“Different kind of conditioning,” Parthicus explained. “Makes our men faster and more mobile, plus we’re then able to cover longer distances in a hurry during battle without exhausting ourselves. Of course we do this in just our tunics, with sword baldric, water bladder, and some light rations, rather than full kit. Still, we’ve found that this supplements our training nicely. Our other centuries go on longer runs as well, usually three to four times a month.”
The men were soon joined by the tesserarius, whose name Artorius had yet to learn. Though they were technically his, he felt almost like an outside intruder, given that days like this would be about the only times he would spend directly with them.
“We’ve found that when we do the compulsory twenty-five mile marches in full kit three times a month,” the officer added, “our men can travel substantially faster than the rest of the legion and still have more energy when time comes to set up camp at the end of the trek.”
“That’s because the rest of the legion is made up of a bunch of fucking girls!” a legionary shouted, eliciting a few laughs and further insults from his mates.
“Belay that shit!” Parthicus snapped. He turned back to his commander. “Sorry, sir, but the lads’ one vice is they are a bit on the arrogant side.”
“Well, perhaps they have a reason to be,” Artorius chuckled. He then took his place at the head of the column. Whatever their tasking was, it felt good to be leading fighting men once more. “First Century, fall in! At the double time…march!”
As the glow of the predawn lit the world around them, Artorius made every effort to regulate his breathing and set a quick, yet manageable pace for his men. By the first mile he was breathing hard and drenched in sweat, despite the cool air of the morning. He begrudgingly acknowledged that while he’d been sitting docile on his ass for the last few years these soldiers had been training constantly, keeping themselves ever battle ready. Still, he was not about to look weak in front of them, and he was thankful that a little past the second mile his legs started to loosen up and his breathing became more controlled. With such a distance to cover, combined with the large number of legionaries clustered together, they moved more at a rhythmic jog rather than an all-out run.
At the mile castle that marked five miles from the fortress, he called his men to a halt. For the first time since they started, he finally turned to face them. They were all sweaty and breathing heavy, though mostly no worse for wear. He hoped none of them could see his expression of pain and exhaustion. He was already feeling humbled by these legionaries, though he took it as a necessary lesson, and that he would endure whatever pain was needed in order to gain their confidence.
“A decent pace,” Parthicus said as he walked over to him, taking a drink off his water bladder. “Just remember, sir, the men still need to be able to function later, so let’s not go so hard that they can’t walk tomorrow.”
“It’s I who won’t be able to walk tomorrow!” he retorted with a laugh as he tried to stretch out his legs, which were starting to cramp.
“Well, just take it easy on the lads on the way back, if you would, sir. And also, a nice cold plunge after always helps. It’ll make you shriek, not to mention your balls will shrivel up a bit, but it’s the best thing to help the legs recover.”
The run back actually felt better to Artorius than their trek out, though he heeded his optio’s advice and set a more measured pace. Whether they made their way back quicker or not, it certainly felt far more invigorating for the master centurion. It was midday when he halted his men outside the gate to the fortress. As soon as he dismissed them, they gave a loud whoop and started sprinting towards the river.
“Well, come on, sir!” Optio Parthicus shouted back to him. “The water’s as frigid as my former girlfriend, but don’t worry, your balls will drop again soon enough!”
Artorius chuckled and followed the men through the trees down to a man-made dock that led down into the River Rhine. The men had constructed a type of pool in the river that allowed the current to come in and out without the hazard of sweeping them away. Most of the legionaries were already naked and splashing about in the cold water. The master centurion stripped down and plunged in after them, fighting back the urge to yelp as the freezing waters bit into him with a shock. He sank down to his neck and let the cold bite into his flesh. He had removed his sandals and reached down to feel his numbing feet, where a couple of blisters were forming. He knew there was nothing for it, and that his feet would simply have to adapt to the impact if he was going to continue these runs with his men.
“Oy! Master Centurion, Artorius!” a voice shouted.
He looked back and laughed when he saw it was another long-lost old friend, Gaius Praxus.
“If you’re done playing, the cohort commanders await you.”
He held up his friend’s tunic and sandals, which Artorius snatched from him as he came out of the water, shivering as a gentle breeze caught him.
“Good to see you, too, you old bastard,” he said as he braced himself against Praxus while pulling on his sandals.
His legionaries continued to splash about while shouting obscene names at each other, and were oblivious to his absence.
Optio Parthicus had been right. The cold water had done his legs some good, though he figured he would still be sore and limping the next day.
“Tell me, Praxus,” he said as they walked through the fortress gate, legionaries on duty saluting as they passed. “Do you go on these types of runs with your century?”
“Whenever I can,” Praxus replied. “Though in all honesty, I can manage it maybe once a month. And you’ll be lucky if you can do even that. I’ve already spoken with Magnus and the other centurion primus ordo, and we all agree that we need to help you shoulder the added burdens that will come over the next year, especially since getting a viable legion commander seems out of the question.”