“Next,” an orderly said, waving Artorius in. The examination room was long, with a table and stool at one end.
“Let me see your hands,” the orderly directed. Artorius did as directed. “You’ve done work with these,” the man observed. “No noticeable scars or deformities,” he continued as he wrote on a small pad. Next he held up a small stick.
“Follow this with your eyes,” he ordered as he moved the stick around Artorius’ head. He then made some more notes on his pad. He then required Artorius to squat down and walk with his hands on his hips. A few more brief calisthenics and he sent Artorius out.
“Alright, it looks like you are fit for duty,” he said without looking up as Artorius left.
As he sat back onto the bench, Artorius thought to himself that the medical screening was too brief, almost rushed. What with the need for additional soldiers on the frontier, it seemed if you possessed all of your fingers and toes and did not have any mysterious diseases evident, then you were accepted. The pre-selection interview was equally rushed. Artorius couldn’t even remember what they had asked him. They were then taken over to the money changers where they would draw an advance on their pay. This excited most of the recruits. Finally, they were ushered into a holding area where they would await transport to the legions on the frontier.
Artorius decided to make conversation with one of the other recruits. He walked over to a powerfully built lad who looked like he was halfway intelligent. The mop of blonde hair on his head betrayed less than purely Latin roots, though this was becoming more and more common. At least he didn’t smell like sheep shit!
“So now we hurry up and wait,” Artorius said, trying to break the ice.
The young man snorted at the remark. “They rush us through the physical screening and interview so that we can get to the frontier faster, only with our luck there’s probably no transportation available for the next three days.” His sarcasm was thick.
Artorius laughed. “At least they were good enough to pay us for our time. I’m Artorius,” he said, extending his hand.
“Magnus,” the other recruit replied.
“So what brought you into the service of the Emperor’s legions?” Artorius asked.
Magnus pondered his response. “I’m the grandson of a minor Nordic noble who earned his citizenship serving in the legions. I grew up worshiping the Norse and Roman gods. My oldest brother took all the profitable shares of our father’s business; he sells textiles, by the way. My next oldest brother is now an oarsman in the navy, which pays really well, however, it’s utterly monotonous. Plus I get seasick. And since I didn’t feel like finding a real job within the city, I thought I would join the army. What about you?”
“Revenge,” Artorius replied without pause.
“Oh,” Magnus raised an eyebrow, then shrugged it off.
Their banter was interrupted when the door opened and two fully armored legionaries walked in. One had his left arm in a sling, and in his right hand he held some documents. With them came the centurion who had conducted their interviews.
“Men,” the centurion said, “this is Sergeant Statorius and Legionary Decimus of the Twentieth Legion. They’ll escort you to your post. Any questions concerning your assignment you can direct towards them.” With that the centurion left.
“When I call out your name, line up outside,” Statorius said. “Antoninus.”
“What?” the young man replied. The decanus lowered the scroll and walked over to the young recruit, a deep scowl scoring his face. Antoninus started to realize his error as the decanus stood with his face just centimeters from his ear.
“Is that how you address a superior?” Statorius shouted. “When I call your names, you will sound off with ‘Here, sergeant.’ Is that clear?”
“Yes, sergeant!” all the recruits sounded off together.
The legionary named Decimus held his fist over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Now, let’s try this again. Antoninus.” Statorius shouted.
“Here, sergeant.”
“That’s better. Artorius.”
“Here, sergeant.”
“Gavius.”
“Here, sergeant.”
“Magnus.”
“Here, sergeant.”
As soon as their names were called, each rushed outside to see twenty horses saddled and waiting for them.
“This is how we are getting to the Rhine?” the recruit whose name was Gavius asked nervously.
“What’s the matter, can’t ride?” Decimus asked as he came walking out.
“It’s just that I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“You’ve got two weeks to learn,” the legionary said, not smiling.
“Two weeks?” Artorius asked.
“What, you didn’t think we were just going to fly to the Rhine, did you?” Decimus did not wait for an answer. “Think yourselves lucky, we got these horses real cheap, otherwise you’d be walking to the Rhine.”
Just then, Sergeant Statorius came walking out. He walked briskly over to his mount, and with some effort, having only one good arm, managed to get mounted. “Alright, stow whatever personal belongings you have into the saddle bags. You’ve got two minutes to be mounted and ready to ride.” Good horsemanship was not something many Romans possessed, so it was rather amazing that all of them were ready to ride when the Sergeant gave the order to move out. Gavius struggled with his mount for most of the first day. Very little was said for the first few hours of their trip. All of them wanted to garner whatever information they could from the Sergeant, but none seemed willing to try and talk with him. Artorius, bored with the silence, decided to make conversation with Statorius.
“Excuse me, Sergeant?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Did they send you all the way down from the Rhine just to pick us up?”
“I was wounded in action several weeks ago, and I was convalescing in Ostia until just yesterday. I was on my way back when I got saddled with taking you lot with me.”
“May I ask how you got wounded?”
“Sure,” Statorius replied. There was a silence that followed. Artorius realized that the decanus was waiting for him to ask.
“So how did you get wounded?”
“I messed up.”
After another long silence, Artorius realized that this particular conversation was going nowhere. Decimus rode over and nudged him.
“Don’t worry about the Sergeant. He’s a little irritated right now. Besides, he doesn’t talk much anyway.”
Artorius looked over at Statorius, who seemed to be brooding about something. He turned his attention back to the legionary.
“Could you please tell us about where we are going?” he asked.
“Yes,” Magnus piped in, “tell us about the legendary Twentieth Legion, Valeria.”
“Valeria?” Gavius asked, still struggling with his horse.
“It means valiant,” answered Artorius.
“That is correct,” replied Decimus. “A lot of times a legion will be given an honorary name to add to its title. The Second Legion is known as ‘Augusta’ since it was formed by the former Emperor. Some names aren’t so flattering, though. The Twenty-First Legion is known as ‘Rapax,’ which technically means ‘The Predator’. However, it has been taken to mean ‘greedy.’ As for Valeria, it is, indeed, a legion full of valiant men. The place we are headed to is called Cologne. It’s a good-sized town. What with two legions stationed there, many feel it will soon boom into a full-blown city. We share a double-sized fortress with the First Legion, Germanica. They’re a pretty good lot. Gaius Caetronius is their Commander.
“Most, in fact, I think all of you, are being assigned to the Third Cohort. Four of you, Artorius, Magnus, Antoninus, and Gavius are coming to the Second Century, where I happen to be assigned.”