“So, what have we got here?” Camillus asked.
“Fresh ones, straight out of the turnip patch. Do you have any idea where we’re putting them?”
“As a matter of fact,” Camillus said, shuffling through some papers, “this one, Antoninus, is getting assigned to Ostorius’ section. The rest…” he paused, “are going with you.”
Statorius looked surprised. “I didn’t think I had three vacancies.”
“Well, that one new kid you had, what was his name, Falerius, I think. Anyway, he took a bad fall during a night march in some rocky country. It busted his leg up pretty good. The doctors said the leg probably would never fully heal, and while he may walk again, marching and fighting were definitely out of the question. So yes, you had three vacancies. Now, you and Ostorius are about the only sections that are at full strength.”
“We will be once these recruits make it through training. When do they start?”
“Tomorrow,” another soldier said as he walked in from the outside. He was also dressed in full armor, and he carried a long staff with a knob on the end of it, a symbol of his rank. “Statorius, welcome back,” he said, shaking the decanus’ hand.
“Valgus,” Statorius said, “good to see you. Lads, this is Valgus, the optio for the Second Century.”
Valgus nodded in acknowledgment. “Let me get out of my gear, and I’ll take them over to supply to draw their basic issue. In the meantime, why don’t you go bathe and relax for a while? You look like hell,” he said to Statorius.
“Yes, I definitely need to hit the bathhouse.”
“I’m already there.” Decimus shouted from the doorway as he left.
“When do we get to use the bathhouse?” Artorius asked, realizing that his own smell was more than a little ripe.
Valgus walked over and placed the end of his staff underneath his chin. “Who in the hell gave you permission to speak, recruit? If your scrawny ass makes it through training, and if we actually decide to let you become a legionary, then you can speak. Until then you will shut the fuck up unless spoken to!” The optio gave his staff a slight nudge to emphasize his point.
Artorius was taken aback that he had called him ‘scrawny,’ given that he had about twice the amount of muscle mass as the optio.
Without missing a beat, Valgus withdrew his staff and continued calmly, “In answer to your question: later, after you get all your equipment and are settled into your quarters.”
As soon as Valgus had changed, he took them over to the armory. An older legionary stood behind the counter along with a couple of Gallic assistants. There were shelves and bins of gear and weapons behind him.
“Line up single file and start trying on your equipment,” he said curtly.
The first thing they drew was one pair of caligae sandals with cold weather leggings. Next, they were sized for their red tunics, of which they were issued four. Artorius required the largest size of tunic available to fit around his muscular frame. Next, they were each issued a belt with groin protection in the front, a dagger with scabbard, a Gallic-style helmet with cheek guards, and body armor, known as the lorica segmentata. Again, Artorius required the largest size of armor available. The armor was a bit of a puzzle to figure out. It consisted of horizontal metal bands that wrapped around the torso. It also had extra bands for the shoulders and neck. In addition to all of this, they were issued a basket, pick, saw, some wool blankets for their bunks, and a long Y-shaped pole with a leather sack in which to put everything.
“No other weapons?” Magnus asked, holding his dagger.
“Until we show you how to use them properly, all you dumbasses will do is hurt yourselves.” Valgus yelled from the door.
“You’ll get those at the end of training, after you’ve sworn the oath of allegiance,” the veteran legionary answered.
With great difficulty they managed to haul all of their gear over to their quarters in the century’s main hall. They were shown to a room where there were eight bunks. Five of these showed signs of occupancy. Two legionaries were dozing on their pallets. There was a small table and some chairs in one corner and a small cooking stove in the other. There was also a doorway leading to another room directly behind it. In here, there were a number of shelves and bins. The shelves were set up for the soldiers to stow their body armor, helmet, and weapons. Five shields were standing up against the wall, and a bin in the corner held a number of javelins. Eight other bins were set up to hold all of the soldiers’ entrenching gear. Another was filled with palisade stakes. A door on the far wall of this room opened directly to the outside. Each recruit claimed a bin and a shelf and stored their gear as best they could. About this time, Statorius, Decimus, and one other legionary came in through the outside door. They wore fresh tunics and their hair was still damp from the bathhouse. Statorius’ arm was still in a sling, though he seemed to be refreshed and in a much fairer temper.
“Ah, I see you’ve found where we live and where all of your equipment goes,” he said.
“So what happens now?” Artorius asked, nervously.
“Dinner,” replied Statorius. He then called to one of the legionaries asleep on his bunk. “Hey, Carbo! Get off your fat ass and get started on supper. It’s your turn today.”
Carbo, the legionary in question, groaned as if in pain and reluctantly rolled off his bunk. He then started the fire underneath the cooking stove.
“What’s with him?” Magnus asked.
“A little too much wine last night,” the legionary who came in with Statorius and Decimus said.
“And a little too much of that trashy tavern wench, Lolia” Decimus added, smiling fiendishly.
“I told you.” Carbo bellowed from the other room. “It was that tavern bitch and her sister.”
“Like hell it was,” the soldier piped in, “you were so wiped out last night that you were probably seeing double.”
Carbo grunted under his breath and started to place some wheat cakes and bacon onto the skillet, all the while grunting about loose women and their sisters.
“Anyway, lads,” Statorius started, “these are our newest recruits. Artorius, Magnus-who thinks he is a Norse warrior, and Gavius; meet Praxus. Of course, you have already met Decimus, and you’ve now been introduced to Carbo, sort of. The other poor sod passed out over there is Valens. I think he may have had a little too much of Lolia and her ‘sister’ last night.” He paused and then in a low voice asked Praxus, “Lolia doesn’t actually have a sister, does she?”
“I don’t think so,” Praxus answered.
“Hmm, anyway, once these new fellows get through the next eight weeks of training and officially become legionaries, we’ll actually have a full crew for once.”
“The training is eight weeks?” Gavius asked.
“Don’t worry, it goes by pretty fast,” Praxus said.
“Plus, you’re too tired and wiped out every night to have any concept of time,” Decimus added with a smile.
“You’ll be alright,” Statorius said. “Besides, the real beatings don’t begin until weapons drill in a couple of weeks.” Given their ‘warm’ reception at the hands of the decanus and Optio Valgus, the recruits did not like the sound of that.
“And it never ends either. Especially with Vitruvius as our chief weapons instructor,” Decimus said, pointing to the bruises on the back of Carbo’s hand and forearm.
“Anyway, let’s eat,” Statorius said as he walked over and elbowed Valens in the ribs.
Training started early the next day. Statorius woke them all up well before sunrise, and instructed them to don their tunic, helmet, belt, and dagger and fall out outside in front of the barracks. Optio Valgus stood there waiting for them. He was dressed in full armor and he carried his staff with him. Antoninus came out from another section of the barracks to join them.
“Recruits,” Valgus said, his voice hard, “today you will begin the transformation from civilians into soldiers. The first thing a legionary needs to be is strong in the mind and the body. During the first couple of weeks, we will condition both. To start the day off we will go for a little run.”