Artorius felt the sweat bead up on his neck as he eyed the new recruits. There were eight altogether. He did not realize they were that far under strength. He wondered why none had come to his section, but then realized that Macro was, in fact, doing him a favor by leaving him under strength, since his men were all veterans. It gave Artorius a chance to adapt to his position before having to deal with having recruits in his own section. It was not so much the task of training recruits that made him nervous; it was the fact that his centurion, along with Centurion Vitruvius, was watching him. At first he kept thinking to himself, ‘how would Vitruvius do this?’ He shook his head and dismissed the notion. He came to realize that Vitruvius was no longer the chief weapons instructor, he was. Slowly he walked down the line of new men, eyeing each one for potential strengths and weaknesses. Most looked average in build, though two were slightly overweight, and one was rail thin. The overweight recruits he wasn’t concerned about. Physical training would strip the baby fat off of them. Getting the skinny recruit to put on enough weight would be a challenge. After a quick walk down the line, he turned and faced the men, aware of the extra sets of eyes on his back.
“Recruits,” he began, “my name is Sergeant Artorius, Chief Weapons Instructor for the Second Century. Today you will start to learn the basic fundamentals of close-combat drill. First off, each of you will grab a practice gladius and shield from the cart.”
As they retrieved their practice weapons, Artorius saw looks of surprise on most of their faces at the weight of each. One of the overweight recruits grunted as he tried to heft the gladius and shield.
“How the hell are we supposed to use these in battle?” the recruit complained. “These bloody things weigh a ton!”
Before the young man could blink, Artorius was standing nose-to-nose with him. “What in the fuck did you say, recruit?” he shouted, his relaxed demeanor gone in a flash. “I didn’t realize I had given you permission to speak!”
The recruit trembled as he saw Artorius clench and unclench his fists, his enormous forearm muscles pulsing. Artorius possessed such sheer size and muscle mass that he outweighed even the heaviest recruits by at least thirty pounds. This only added to his intimidating presence.
“I was just pointing out how heavy these practices weapons are…”
Before the recruit could finish, Artorius butted him in the face with the short brim on his helmet. He then put his face next to the man’s ear. “You listen to me real hard, recruit. You open your mouth and complain like a little bitch on my drill field again, and I will tear your balls off and stuff them down your throat! Are we clear?”
“Yes, sergeant,” the recruit gulped.
Artorius started to turn away, but then spun around and slammed the back of his fist into the recruit’s stomach, just below the ribcage. The young man gasped and fell to his knees, his breath taken from him.
“Get up,” Artorius growled into the recruit’s ear.
As the man struggled to his feet, gasping and coughing, Artorius immediately became nonchalant again, his relaxed demeanor returning. He then went about demonstrating the proper use of the gladius and shield. After having shown them the proper stance and how to punch with their shields, he had them practice with the six-foot stakes that were set into the drill field. Once satisfied, he then showed them how to properly use the gladius as a stabbing weapon.
For the next hour he had them drill on the training stakes. He remembered back to his first day on the stakes. He had been trembling badly, exhaustion overcoming him, when Centurion Macro had motivated him to keep going with a serious of blows from his vine stick. Artorius could see the recruits facing similar dilemmas as fatigue gripped them. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Centurion Macro pacing back and forth behind the recruits, waiting for one to drop his weapon or try and rest before Artorius told them to cease. One poor recruit missed the stake completely with a stab and stumbled forward, falling face first onto the ground. As he struggled to his feet, Macro lunged at him and brought his vine stick down hard on the recruit’s helmet, sending him sprawling to the ground.
“You clumsy jackal!” he roared.
As the centurion chastised and kicked the hapless recruit, Artorius noticed one of the others had stopped attacking his stake and was, instead, watching and laughing at the ordeal. Artorius walked up behind him silently and cuffed him hard across the ear. The recruit gave a yelp of surprise and pain and was terrified when he saw the sergeant glaring at him. He immediately went back to drilling with his shield and gladius without Artorius uttering a word.
When he felt they had pushed themselves hard enough, Artorius gave the order for them to rest. All were drenched in sweat and leaning on their practice shields. One of the overweight recruits was dry heaving and trying to keep from vomiting.
“You throw up on my drill field and you will be cleaning it up with your tongue,” Artorius asserted.
The young man looked up at the decanus, his face pale and clammy. He swallowed hard and stood upright, breathing deeply.
Artorius was surprised to see the skinny recruit held up well, comparatively. He was soaked in sweat and completely exhausted, however he had neither stumbled nor given up at any point. Artorius then told them to take off their helmets and have a seat on the grass.
He stood facing them, his hands behind his back.
“Recruits,” he began, “today you have taken the first steps towards learning how to fight as legionaries. What I did not tell you earlier is the practice gladius and shield are, in fact, twice as heavy as service weapons.” He saw a look of relief cross the faces of several of the young men. Artorius smirked at that. He then noticed that Optio Flaccus had arrived to take the recruits to their next phase of training for the day.
“By drilling with these practice weapons, you will be able to handle your service weapons more easily,” he continued. “As you progress through your training, your bodies will become stronger, your muscles more conditioned. Remember what you learned today, and we will expound upon it tomorrow. That is all.” As he turned to walk away, he heard one of the recruits address him.
“Excuse me, sergeant?”
Artorius turned to see it was the recruit he had chastised earlier for complaining about the weight of the practice weapons. The young man was standing rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.
“What is it?” Artorius asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“I…I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. It was unbecoming, and I assure you it will not happen again.”
“What is your name, recruit?”
“Felix Spurius, sergeant,” he replied. “I’m the bastard son of a magistrate of Ravenna. I’m here to prove my worth to my father, as well as to myself.”
“You can prove yourself by becoming stronger in the mind, as well as the body,” Artorius replied. “Each drives the other. A strong mind will carry the body beyond its limits, thereby making it stronger. Learn your lessons well, and you’ll be alright.”
“Thank you, sergeant,” the recruit replied.
Artorius waved for him to go join his fellow recruits, who were getting briefed by Optio Flaccus.
After he dismissed the recruit, Artorius walked over to where Centurions Macro and Vitruvius had been watching. He had completely forgotten they were even there. Both men had their arms folded, but did not look displeased.
“Not bad,” Vitruvius remarked with a smile.
“Well done,” Macro added. “When you finish stowing your training gear, I need you to come to the century office. We need to discuss your own training regime for the Legion Champion Tournament.”