Neither man showed the slightest hint of weakness. Back and forth, they fought — breaking and colliding and countering the other’s moves and locks, until finally, one gave in to the other’s overwhelming strength.
One competitor was a giant of a man. He had short black hair that was cut close to his skull. His muscles, nearly as large as melons, were covered in sweat, which rolled in between the rippling folds of his arms, back and shoulders. His legs seemed as if they had been forged in fire, crafted from the finest iron, impossible to break.
The second man was shorter by a good eight inches. With short close-cropped blonde hair, this man’s body was no less defined then the larger of the two. The height, however, was something the shorter man was having difficulties overcoming. He continually struggled to position his body in the stance that would allow him to overpower the larger man.
His youthful face was covered in sweat and showed the agony he was in as he began to lose any advantage he might have had when the two first locked together.
With an angry grunt of frustration, his grip slipped, just slightly. That, unfortunately, was all the large man needed as he grabbed hold of his opponent’s wrist; twisting it until he broke the smaller man’s hold entirely.
In one painful pull, the taller man lifted his opponent up and over his head before slamming him squarely onto his back.
Sand kicked up into the musty air as the defeated man lay still on his back, eyes closed his entire body racked with pain. This had been the fourth time this afternoon he was put down so hard.
Opening his eyes, the sun glaring down, the defeated man lifted himself back to his feet as the victorious opponent laughed at his sorry and tired state. He wasn’t alone as half a dozen men too joined the jubilation.
“Gods be damned!" Yelled the defeated man as he wiped sand off of his bare-chested body.
“You don’t give yourself enough time to find the right moment to strike. You act too fast, Maurus,” Gaius stated with a grin as he tried not to join his comrades in their amusement of his friend’s continuous defeat.
“It isn’t fair; Agrippa is the size of a horse,” Maurus complained, which was nearly true.
“Since when does size matter?” Gaius replied.
“Oh, this coming from someone who is six-foot two. I, on the other hand, am only good for chasing rats under the kitchen table,” Maurus joked at his own expense as he again took to the center of the sand-cover arena, squaring off against Agrippa once more.
“You are pretty good at chasing rats, Maurus,” Agrippa said with a humorous grin.
Once again, the two young soldiers faced one another.
Gaius stood off to the side — his arms crossed as he watched the two with careful eyes.
This day, like most, Gaius was overseeing the practice of his century. Two dozen other legionnaires, most of whom the same age as he, pitted against one another as they wrestled inside the large rectangular pit.
Each man fought in the nude, as they trained for three hours without rest. Already, as the day was just beginning, they still had another hour to go before they moved to another exercise.
Gaius did not join them this day as, he, a senior officer and already most skilled among the group, watched and passed along his advice in order to help improve the soldiers' skills, many of them new, having joined the Sixth Legion less than a year ago.
Most of his attention was, however, kept on Maurus and Agrippa.
Gaius raised his fist into the air and held it there for a few moments, before he quickly dropped it towards the mat.
Once he had given the indication for Maurus and Agrippa to begin, he stood back and careful studied Maurus, who rushed in and tried to overpower the larger man.
With a thunderous clap of naked flesh, the two Romans collided. Each man’s hand and arms violently fought as they reached for the best position to gain the early advantage. The sweat coming off their skin made their grip that much more difficult.
Maurus was considerable faster, and a damn good fighter. He normally took the first step in the battle, outpacing the slower and more cumbersome Agrippa. The problem was Maurus tried too hard. Instead of using his strengths and natural gifts to bring the larger man down, he fought tooth and nail to muscle Agrippa onto his back.
While Maurus could defeat most men easily, he could not understand the concept of fighting a larger opponent. In his mind, he had already lost before the bout had begun.
For over three minutes, the two fought. As before, Maurus would make the wrong move as he continued to attempt to overpower Agrippa.
Taking advantage of his size and strength, Agrippa allowed Maurus to make a fatal mistake, and then counter the error, always resulting in him flipping the young Roman onto his back, ending the bout.
With another loud thump, Maurus was thrown down, losing yet again where he was breathing heavily and refusing to get up.
“Are you dead?” Gaius asked as he stood over his downed friend.
“Yes, now leave me be and let the vultures have my flesh and bones,” Maurus replied as he stared up at the slow-moving clouds.
“Good. Now get up and start again.” Gaius grabbed Maurus’ wrist, lifting him back to his feet.
“I hate this sport. I do not wish to do it any longer. I am paid to carry a sword and shield, not fight bare ass in the sand,” Maurus complained.
“You will be thankful you know how to fight when you’ve lost your sword, and fighting a Greek hoplite in battle, hand-to-hand,” Gaius commented with a smile.
Maurus grinned as he wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Like a boy-loving Greek could ever disarm me.”
“You might be surprised; the Greeks did invent this sport, and were once masters of the world.”
“They don’t have much to show for it now, do they?” Maurus slowly stepped back into the pit and lowering himself down into a three-quarter stance.
“I am Greek decent,” Agrippa commented.
“I thought you from this neck of the woods, old boy?” Maurus mused.
Gaius smiled.
“Nearly everyone in the south of Italy is Greek descent. If only you showed as much care to history as you do your body hair, you may be a bloody legate by now. Now, let’s try to show some improvement before dinner, shall we?” Gaius joked as he dropped his fist for the two to begin.
Once more, the two young Romans collided, but this time Gaius’ attention was turned elsewhere as a messenger rode into the compound and galloped towards Valerius’ office.
This rider had been the third one this week and while the contents of what they carried was private, everyone in the camp, including Gaius, had some idea what the fuss was about.
There were rumors spreading across the countryside that trouble was coming from the north. A Carthaginian general was moving fifty thousand men down through the Alps, and would enter Italy in a few weeks.
Gaius was now twenty-three, and he felt he was prepared to defend Rome if the word came from the Senate that the Republic was going to war. He had studied harder than most in the legion and thought himself eager as any veteran in the Sixth Legion.
He still recalled the promise, he'd made to his father the day he left home with Valerius: he vowed to make the man proud and do his very best to be a proper soldier like his father was, and to this day, from the moment he walked through the camp gates, he had done everything that had been asked of him.
While he legally couldn’t join the legion until he was sixteen, he spent those first three years in Valerius’ shadow, learning and watching the old legate’s every move. When his training began Gaius found he had a natural talent in many forms of warfare. He easily bested men twice his age in numerous forms of soldiering: wrestling, swordsmanship, horsemanship, boxing, and most important, tactics, strategy and command. Because of these skills, he was made an optio when he was seventeen — greatly due to his ability to read and write. Two years later he was made a junior centurion and giving the command of his own century. Currently, Valerius had him assigned to the first cohort of the legion, where his promotion continued to climb. The old man seemly wanted Gaius to stay near him as he came of age, grooming him to perhaps one-day take command of the legion itself.