“I couldn’t let you go off to war alone,” Artorius replied. “I admit it was a bit nerve wracking having to ask Father’s blessing on my joining.”
“And how is my old tutor?” Pilate asked.
“He’s doing well,” Artorius answered. “I think he finally may be getting around to seeing Juliana as more than just a friend.”
“Ah, dear Juliana,” Pilate mused. “She’s a good woman. Your father could scarcely do better.”
“Unfortunately, I have not heard from Camilla for some time,” Artorius continued. “I used to get a letter from her at least once or twice a week. It’s been three weeks now since I last heard from her. I guess there is only so much we can really say to each other when we are hundreds of miles apart.”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, old friend, but you’d be best to give up any hopes of a future with her. She’s an attractive and very nice young girl. But that’s just it, Artorius, she is still a girl. You may only be a year older, but your experiences here will age and mature you far beyond your years. The distance between you will be measured in more than just the physical miles. My advice to you; stay focused on the task at hand, complete your training, and then find yourself a hot little whore to take your mind off things. I don’t mean to sound callous, but I doubt that Camilla will wait for you.” He paused for a few seconds. “Do well in your training, Artorius. Listen to the officers and legionaries who have been at this for a while. These are good men. They will look after you. Take care, old friend.”
They exchanged salutes before going their separate ways.
“You know that lad?” Dionysus asked Pilate after the recruits had left.
“An old school friend,” Pilate replied. “His father was one of my teachers. I see a lot of potential in him. He is strong, incredibly intelligent. Only the issue with his constant, blinding anger worries me.”
The centurion looked at him, puzzled.
“His brother was killed in Teutoburger Wald,” Pilate responded to the unasked question.
“So he’s here seeking revenge,” Dionysus stated. “He’ll get his chance soon enough.”
Chapter VI: The Legionary
It was morning, and the sun shone through the window of the barracks. When Artorius opened his eyes, he realized it was the first time since arriving that he had not been awakened before dawn. He looked over to see the other recruits were still in their bunks, but the legionaries were gone. Just then, Sergeant Statorius walked in. He was wearing all of his armor, and it looked as if he had taken the time to shine it and his helmet.
“Alright, wake up!” he said, kicking at their bunks. “You’ve got ten minutes to be dressed, body armor, everything.”
As the recruits wandered into the back room where their equipment was, they saw that to their kit, a gladius and scabbard had been added.
“The gladius goes on the right side of your belt,” Statorius said. “Get dressed and follow me outside.”
As soon as they were dressed, they walked outside to see the entire century had formed up in a column six ranks deep. Valgus was standing in the center behind the formation. Camillus stood in front of the formation, holding the century’s standard. He also wore the traditional bear’s skin over his helmet and shoulders. Centurion Macro stood next to him. He was carrying a rolled parchment in his hand.
“Recruits Antoninus, Artorius, Gavius, and Magnus, post!” he said.
All four stood between Macro and the rest of the century, facing the centurion.
“Draw your swords,” he told them. “Prepare to swear your oath.”
The oath of allegiance was something the recruits had memorized long before this day. Artorius was so full of excitement, he hoped he would not forget any of the words. The recruits held their swords high in a salute and recited the words they had been longing to speak:
“In the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, and in the name of the Emperor, the Divine Tiberius, I do swear my allegiance. My loyalty to the Twentieth Legion, to my fellow soldiers, and my integrity to them, shall be above reproach. The orders of my superior officers I will obey without question. I am a Soldier of Rome, protector of the Empire, and the right hand of the Emperor Tiberius.”
At the completion of the oath, they replaced their gladii into their scabbards. Macro unfurled the parchment and turned it so the letters faced them.
“From this day forth you are now entered onto the rolls of the legion,” he said, “You men are no longer civilians, you are no longer recruits. You are now legionaries, soldiers of Rome.” He rolled the parchment up. In a low voice that only they could hear he said, “Welcome to the century, men. Now join your brothers in the ranks.”
As they turned around, a loud cheer erupted from the men of the Second Century. The new legionaries found their place with Sergeant Statorius and the rest of their section. Centurion Macro dismissed the formation, and the men headed back to their barracks. On the way back in, legionaries from the century kept coming up to Artorius and the others, clasping their hands and welcoming them. It was the greatest feeling Artorius had ever felt. Finally, he was a soldier of Rome. Optio Valgus stood at the door leading into the barracks. He was practically beaming with pride as he took each man by the hand.
“Welcome to the century, soldier,” he said to each as they shook his hand and made their way into the barracks.
Seeing the pride his optio felt towards him added to Artorius’ sense of accomplishment.
As he put his armor and helmet back onto his shelf, he saw there were three more shields lined up against the wall. They were full-length rectangular curved shields, with a metal boss in the center and brass strips lining the outer edges. Each shield was painted red, with golden wings coming out of the boss. Artorius found his and smiled at the inscription that was on the inside towards the top. It read:
T. Artorius Justus, Legionary
Legio XX, Cohort III, Century II
It was late afternoon and the small town outside the fortress was packed with soldiers. With the upcoming campaign, the legion’s senior officers felt it was in the men’s best interest to let them relax and unwind a bit before the campaign commenced. It was the first time Artorius had been in town. The legionaries were allowed to leave their armor and helmets in their rooms, but they were required to each carry their gladius and dagger. Auxiliaries guarded the entrances and exits to the town, so the legionaries felt somewhat secure, though one could never completely let their guard down. They were, after all, on the border of the frontier and very close to hostile territory.
Artorius and his companions sat around a table in the tavern. After eight weeks of training, it felt good to relax. A servant brought them a pitcher of wine. She winked at Carbo as she set it down. She looked to be in her late thirties, though in reality she was probably much younger. Hard life on the rural frontier did not help the locals to age gracefully. She had probably been pretty at one time, now she looked weathered and tired.
“That must be Lolia,” Artorius said.
“That’s her alright,” Praxus said, “the love of Carbo’s life.” He grabbed his friend by the back of the neck.
“Kiss my ass,” Carbo said as he took a long draught of wine. “I told you I was drunk at the time.”
“And well on your way to becoming incredibly drunk once again,” Decimus piped in.
“And who, may I ask, is that?” Magnus asked, pointing towards a fetching young Gallic woman.
“That? Oh that’s Varinia,” Praxus said. “Five sesterci and she’s yours.”
“Say again?” Magnus asked. Then in realization, “Oh, so she’s one of those.”
“And a damned good one, too,” Decimus said, reaching down and grabbing at his groin, “and she has a sister.”