Athos interrupted again, “He had a gladius, right? Shorter than the Spathas we use now.”
Constan smiled at Athos’ knowledge, “Indeed, the gladius was a twenty-two inch blade used for thrusting attacks. Our Spatha is thirty-nine inches in length and is used primarily for cutting attacks.”
Constan spent a moment clearing his throat and continued the story, “The Parthian commander tired of watching his men get butchered, so he came forward and offered the man of iron a deal.” Constan paused, pondered for a moment, and then voiced his opinion, “The Parthians were slippery, treacherous bastards so this was a risk for the Ironman, but it offered him a chance to survive the day.”
Constan paused and took a swig of water from his canteen and continued the story, “The Parthian commander told him that if he could defeat in single combat, every man sent forth onto the bridge until the sun touched the western horizon, the General would take his army and go back to Parthia in peace. The Ironman accepted the challenge.”
Baltazar who had also been listening jumped in at this point, “Fighting all day like that is impossible. Doesn’t sound like he had much choice though.”
Constan shook his head in dismay and replied to Baltazar, “’Tis not impossible Baltazar. I’ve done it ‘meself. Why do you think we make you spend so much time swinging your Spatha at the wooden posts?”
Baltazar replied, “To get better at swinging our Spathas?”
Constan answered, “Aye, that’s part of it. Swinging your weapon at the post builds strength in your arm. If you do it enough, you’ll be able to swing your Spatha in battle for an entire day.”
Athos said, “Never mind the Spathas, let’s get back to the story.”
Constan chuckled, “First you interrupt me every time I draw breath, and now ye want to hear more? Very well. The Ironman was in quite a pickle. You see the sun had just begun its long descent from its zenith. Would he have the stamina to fight the remainder of that day?”
Constan paused dramatically until Athos asked impatiently, “Well did he?”
Constan continued, “Fortunately, the Ironman was up to the challenge. One by one the best champions that the Parthian host had to offer came forth to fight the Ironman and one by one their blood washed over the stones of that bridge.”
Constan paused and took another swig of water from his canteen, “Occasionally a Parthian got lucky and scored a hit on the Ironman. Despite many bleeding wounds his strength never flagged, and he fought on. Finally, when the buzzing of flies swirling over his fallen enemies nearly drowned out the sound of swords ringing in battle, the sun touched the western horizon. The Ironman still stood alone on that bridge in front of the vast Parthian host. The Parthian commander, whose name has been lost to time, honored his word. Unusual for those treacherous bastards. The Parthian commander saluted the victorious Ironman and went home in peace just as he had promised.”
“So, what happened to the Ironman?” Athos asked.
Constan replied, “No one knows exactly. We are not even sure how the story got told. The Ironman has never been seen again after that day. It is said that a day will come that seems hopeless. A day in which the Empire will face an unimaginable challenge. When all seems lost, and beyond hope, the Ironman will return to us.”
Athos nodded, “Until that day, the Empire needs warriors like us.”
Baltazar added, “Strong warriors that are trained to overcome the Persians or whatever other challenge faces us.”
Constan smiled and put his hand on Athos and Baltazar’s shoulder, “Ye know I was convinced that the both of ye were just plain stupid. Everyone once in a while ye surprise me. Keep surprising me like ye did today, and we may yet have hope.”
Athos replied, “Thanks. I think…”
Constan winked at Athos and said, “With the right training it’s amazing what a Roman soldier can accomplish. Even a dim lot from Armenia such as yeselves!”
Athos pointed to the shield on the soldier’s back in front of him, “What do these colors on our shields represent?”
Constan replied, “The colors on our shield are in honor of the Ironman. Blue, representing the vast skies above him, as he fought. Red, in representation of the blood of his vanquished foes. Gray, in reflection of the iron that filled his heart and yellow in honor of the Sun as it made its way across the sky to the horizon.”
Baltazar asked, “You were in the war with Persia, right?”
Constan answered, “Aye, the war with Persian didn’t start well at all. After we had bled the ground red retreating all the way from Mesopotamia to the gates of Constantinople. We turned the tables on those Persian bastards. Luckily, after Emperor Heraclius finally pulled his head from his arse, and figured out what the hell he was doing. He led us on an offensive that carried the army to the gates of Ctesiphon. It was glorious!”
Baltazar jumped in, “You were at the sacking of Ctesiphon?”
Athos added, “The Ctesiphon that even when us Romans were at the height of our power and controlled all lands from the western sea to the deserts of Persia we couldn’t take?”
Constan beamed, “Aye, that’s the one. Jupiter had ignored the Empire for centuries, but God heard our prayers. With his strength, we were able to beat back the pagan hordes and wrest control of Ctesiphon from those Persian bastards and their false God Ahura Mazda.” Constan emphasized the name Ahura Mazda by spitting on ground.
Their banter was interrupted when Nikas powerful voice bellowed, “Halt and form testudo, you louts!”
As if they were of one mind the men of the 2nd Kentarchia broke their column of six marching formation and flowed together into a square. The Skutatoi in the front of the square held their shields out in front of them. The men on the right side held their shields in their right hands, and the men on the left side held their shields with the left hand. Those in the middle held their shields aloft, and the soldiers in the rear row turned around and held their shields facing back the way they had come. Together the shields formed a continuous wall. Like the turtle in its shell, they were well protected.
About ten minutes into the simulated arrow attack, Athos’ mind began wandering. He lost himself in thought wondering how great it must have been to be there at the end of that long road that Constan and the other veterans had journeyed upon during the war. He remembered stories told by veterans sitting around the fires on cool nights in Armenia. As he daydreamed, his left arm tiring from holding his shield aloft for so long, began to throb. Not thinking he lowered it.
Baltazar slapped him on the helm, “Come back to us Athos! You don’t want Nikas to see you daydreaming. He is just looking for an excuse to bust your balls, and shove a spear up your arse!”
“Thanks, Baltazar,” replied Athos. He raised his shield into his assigned spot for the testudo formation. I need to be more careful. He could remember Constan’s first lesson about the shield wall, ‘The testudo formation was the classic Roman tortoise of centuries past. The idea was to form a wall and use spears to keep enemy infantry and cavalry at bay. The formation was also effective versus slingers and gave a good deal of protection from enemy archers.’
Nikas yelled, “Column of sixes!”
This command jolted Athos into the present. He let his shield down and rubbed his arm trying to get the blood flowing again. The muscles in his arms were so fatigued that the arm shook. As he rubbed his arm, he ran to his spot in the column of six formation. After drilling so much Athos and Baltazar quickly found their places in the growing line of the 5th Parthica without conscious thought.