by James Mace
“It is not just vengeance, Father. It is justice that I seek. We both know that the Emperor is planning to launch an overwhelming invasion of Germania soon. Tell me, what kind of man would I be if I allowed this one chance to pass me by? It is like I can feel Metellus’ soul crying out for justice.”
“And suppose you do go to Germania and you do exact justice without getting yourself killed, what then?”
“Then I will continue to serve Rome. The army is the one truly honorable profession left in the civilized world… besides being a teacher.”
Primus smiled at the compliment, though it was a sad smile. “Very well,” he said, “I shall write your letter, just as I did for your dear brother. And I shall pray nightly to the gods that you do not suffer his fate. Only remember this: to seek justice is a good and noble thing, to seek revenge out of hatred is something that will devour your very soul. You are a strong, intelligent young man, Titus. Do not let hatred rule your fate.”
Very little was said after that. They continued to walk through the vineyards, discussing other things; anything but the army and the impending war.
The next day they left without ceremony, for the recruiting headquarters located by the docks in Ostia. There Primus delivered both his son and the letter of introduction that would allow him to join the ranks of the legions. There was sadness in the elder Artorius’ face, but there was also pride. He had sent a letter the night before to Pontius Pilate, asking that he check in on Artorius periodically.
“I’ll be alright, Father,” Artorius said with what he hoped was an air of confidence.
Primus forced a smile before embracing his son. “Remember what I told you. Let justice be your guide. The army is only as noble and honorable as the men who serve in it.”
“And I hope to one day find myself worthy of such honor,” Artorius replied. As he walked towards the gate where a number of potential recruits stood waiting, he turned back and faced his father.
“When I do return, Father, I hope that you will have done the right and honorable thing by Juliana. She is the best thing to have come into your life, and you would be a fool to think otherwise.” Without another word, Artorius turned away.
Primus could only smile and marvel at what his son had said.
As soon as Artorius had disappeared within the confines of the recruit depot, Primus started his lonely journey home. He had work to do in the vineyards that day and lessons to prepare…no, he would stop and see Juliana first.
There were about twenty young men waiting inside the recruiting headquarters for their physical screenings and interviews. They had come from all over the region. Some were the sons of shepherds and farmers who wanted to rid themselves of the monotony of their fathers’ professions. Others were of the poor and destitute who had nowhere else to go; their names alone allowing them to enlist. Still others came from the city’s middle classes, who were educated and wished to make an honorable profession out of the military.
Artorius took a seat on a bench outside the medical screening room. The other recruits sat in silence, nobody saying a word. Most were young, no older than he was. In spite of his eagerness, he was still a bit apprehensive. He had never been away from home before, and now he was on the verge of leaving forever. Artorius saw similar looks in the faces of the other recruits. All were nervous, yet excited. These men were no conscripts; Rome had ceased using conscription generations before. No, every last man who served in the legions was a volunteer. These men wanted to be there. After what seemed like a long time, the door opened.
“Next,” an orderly said, waving Artorius in. The examination room was long, with a table and stool at one end.
“Let me see your hands,” the orderly directed. Artorius did as directed. “You’ve done work with these,” the man observed. “No noticeable scars or deformities,” he continued as he wrote on a small pad. Next he held up a small stick.
“Follow this with your eyes,” he ordered as he moved the stick around Artorius’ head. He then made some more notes on his pad. He then required Artorius to squat down and walk with his hands on his hips. A few more brief calisthenics and he sent Artorius out.
“Alright, it looks like you are fit for duty,” he said without looking up as Artorius left.
As he sat back onto the bench, Artorius thought to himself that the medical screening was too brief, almost rushed. What with the need for additional soldiers on the frontier, it seemed if you possessed all of your fingers and toes and did not have any mysterious diseases evident, then you were accepted. The pre-selection interview was equally rushed. Artorius couldn’t even remember what they had asked him. They were then taken over to the money changers where they would draw an advance on their pay. This excited most of the recruits. Finally, they were ushered into a holding area where they would await transport to the legions on the frontier.
Artorius decided to make conversation with one of the other recruits. He walked over to a powerfully built lad who looked like he was halfway intelligent. The mop of blonde hair on his head betrayed less than purely Latin roots, though this was becoming more and more common. At least he didn’t smell like sheep shit!
“So now we hurry up and wait,” Artorius said, trying to break the ice.
The young man snorted at the remark. “They rush us through the physical screening and interview so that we can get to the frontier faster, only with our luck there’s probably no transportation available for the next three days.” His sarcasm was thick.
Artorius laughed. “At least they were good enough to pay us for our time. I’m Artorius,” he said, extending his hand.
“Magnus,” the other recruit replied.
“So what brought you into the service of the Emperor’s legions?” Artorius asked.
Magnus pondered his response. “I’m the grandson of a minor Nordic noble who earned his citizenship serving in the legions. I grew up worshiping the Norse and Roman gods. My oldest brother took all the profitable shares of our father’s business; he sells textiles, by the way. My next oldest brother is now an oarsman in the navy, which pays really well, however, it’s utterly monotonous. Plus I get seasick. And since I didn’t feel like finding a real job within the city, I thought I would join the army. What about you?”
“Revenge,” Artorius replied without pause.
“Oh,” Magnus raised an eyebrow, then shrugged it off.
Their banter was interrupted when the door opened and two fully armored legionaries walked in. One had his left arm in a sling, and in his right hand he held some documents. With them came the centurion who had conducted their interviews.
“Men,” the centurion said, “this is Sergeant Statorius and Legionary Decimus of the Twentieth Legion. They’ll escort you to your post. Any questions concerning your assignment you can direct towards them.” With that the centurion left.
“When I call out your name, line up outside,” Statorius said. “Antoninus.”
“What?” the young man replied. The decanus lowered the scroll and walked over to the young recruit, a deep scowl scoring his face. Antoninus started to realize his error as the decanus stood with his face just centimeters from his ear.
“Is that how you address a superior?” Statorius shouted. “When I call your names, you will sound off with ‘Here, sergeant.’ Is that clear?”
“Yes, sergeant!” all the recruits sounded off together.
The legionary named Decimus held his fist over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Now, let’s try this again. Antoninus.” Statorius shouted.
“Here, sergeant.”
“That’s better. Artorius.”
“Here, sergeant.”
“Gavius.”
“Here, sergeant.”
“Magnus.”
“Here, sergeant.”
As soon as their names were called, each rushed outside to see twenty horses saddled and waiting for them.
“This is how we are getting to the Rhine?” the recruit whose nam
e was Gavius asked nervously.
“What’s the matter, can’t ride?” Decimus asked as he came walking out.
“It’s just that I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“You’ve got two weeks to learn,” the legionary said, not smiling.
“Two weeks?” Artorius asked.
“What, you didn’t think we were just going to fly to the Rhine, did you?” Decimus did not wait for an answer. “Think yourselves lucky, we got these horses real cheap, otherwise you’d be walking to the Rhine.”
Just then, Sergeant Statorius came walking out. He walked briskly over to his mount, and with some effort, having only one good arm, managed to get mounted. “Alright, stow whatever personal belongings you have into the saddle bags. You’ve got two minutes to be mounted and ready to ride.” Good horsemanship was not something many Romans possessed, so it was rather amazing that all of them were ready to ride when the Sergeant gave the order to move out. Gavius struggled with his mount for most of the first day. Very little was said for the first few hours of their trip. All of them wanted to garner whatever information they could from the Sergeant, but none seemed willing to try and talk with him. Artorius, bored with the silence, decided to make conversation with Statorius.
“Excuse me, Sergeant?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Did they send you all the way down from the Rhine just to pick us up?”
“I was wounded in action several weeks ago, and I was convalescing in Ostia until just yesterday. I was on my way back when I got saddled with taking you lot with me.”
“May I ask how you got wounded?”
“Sure,” Statorius replied. There was a silence that followed. Artorius realized that the decanus was waiting for him to ask.
“So how did you get wounded?”
“I messed up.”
After another long silence, Artorius realized that this particular conversation was going nowhere. Decimus rode over and nudged him.
“Don’t worry about the Sergeant. He’s a little irritated right now. Besides, he doesn’t talk much anyway.”
Artorius looked over at Statorius, who seemed to be brooding about something. He turned his attention back to the legionary.
“Could you please tell us about where we are going?” he asked.
“Yes,” Magnus piped in, “tell us about the legendary Twentieth Legion, Valeria.”
“Valeria?” Gavius asked, still struggling with his horse.
“It means valiant,” answered Artorius.
“That is correct,” replied Decimus. “A lot of times a legion will be given an honorary name to add to its title. The Second Legion is known as ‘Augusta’ since it was formed by the former Emperor. Some names aren’t so flattering, though. The Twenty-First Legion is known as ‘Rapax,’ which technically means ‘The Predator’. However, it has been taken to mean ‘greedy.’ As for Valeria, it is, indeed, a legion full of valiant men. The place we are headed to is called Cologne. It’s a good-sized town. What with two legions stationed there, many feel it will soon boom into a full-blown city. We share a double-sized fortress with the First Legion, Germanica. They’re a pretty good lot. Gaius Caetronius is their Commander.
“Most, in fact, I think all of you, are being assigned to the Third Cohort. Four of you, Artorius, Magnus, Antoninus, and Gavius are coming to the Second Century, where I happen to be assigned.”
“Century,” Antoninus said, “so that means there are a hundred men assigned to it?”
“Actually, that’s not correct,” Decimus answered. “A century is made up of ten tent groups, or sections, of eight men each. The senior man in each section holds the rank of decanus, Sergeant of Legionaries. So, in actuality, there are eighty men in a century, eighty-four if you count the senior officers, when we are at full strength, which is practically never. Sergeant Statorius and I come from the same section.
“The centurion is the man in charge of the century. All are highly experienced soldiers who’ve come up through the ranks. Most have between fifteen and twenty years in the army by the time they see promotion. Our centurion, Platorius Macro, is one of the younger ones; he was just promoted within the last year. Come to think of it, there are a number of young centurions in the Twentieth. There was a big shake-up amongst the ranks after the entire army damned near mutinied.”
“The army mutinied?” Magnus asked.
“Didn’t hear about that back home, did you?” Decimus stated more than asked. “That doesn’t surprise me. Anyway, that’s a story for another time. Like I was saying, you’ve got the centurion who runs the century. Directly beneath him is the optio. The optio is second in command of the century and he takes care of a lot of the day to day business. Our optio’s name is Valgus.
“The other predominant figures within the century are the signifier and the tesserarius. The tesserarius takes care of all the duty rosters, the watch words of the day and the training schedules. He’s somebody you definitely want to make friends with, especially if you want to avoid certain details like digging out the sewage pipes every time they get backlogged with shit.”
The recruits all wrinkled their noses at the thought.
Decimus laughed and continued, “The signifier is in charge of all the century’s pay and allowances and is also third in command of the century. You’ll learn to love him on pay days. He is also the one who carries the century’s standard into battle, which he uses for relaying visual signals and orders to other units. Flaccus and Camillus are our tesserarius and signifier. There are also some various special duty positions like the chief weapons instructor. Sergeant Vitruvius holds that position. You’ll get to know him very well over the next few weeks.”
Statorius started laughing, as if at some inside joke that only he and Decimus were privy to.
Decimus continued his dissertation on the makeup of the Roman Legion. “So now you know the basic structure of the century. The cohort is made up of six centuries, and it is commanded by the ranking centurion, known as the centurion pilus prior, who is always assigned to the First Century. Valerius Proculus is the pilus prior for the Third Cohort. Ten cohorts make up the bulk of the legion. Cohorts Two through Ten are structured exactly the same. The First Cohort is a bit different. It only has five centuries instead of six, but each of these is at double-strength of one hundred sixty men. All soldiers in the First Cohort are handpicked veterans and are considered to be the elite of any legion. Their centurions are each given the title of centurion primus ordo. They are the most experienced and the senior ranking centurions within the legion. They outrank even the cohort commanders. They, in turn, are led by the centurion primus pilus, sometimes known as the chief or master centurion. He is the senior ranking centurion within the legion, and third overall in the chain-of-command. It is the highest rank an enlisted soldier can ever hope to achieve, though most will never see it. Remember, there is only one per legion, and there are currently twenty-five legions in the Empire. You can do the math on that one. Flavius Quietus holds that position in the Twentieth. He’s a hard-ass, old-school soldier. Has a soft spot for the men, though.
“The Equestrian Class of society provides the legion with its military tribunes. There are six in each legion. They serve as staff officers, mostly for only six-month tours. We pay little attention to them as very few are serious at being career army officers. Pontius Pilate, Chief of Artillery is one of those few.”
Artorius’ ears perked up at the sound of his old friend’s name.
Decimus continued, “The senior tribune in the legion comes from the Senatorial class, just like the commanding general or Legate, as is his official title. Caecina Severus is the legate of the Twentieth. Gaius Strabo, Chief Tribune, is second in command. ”
The new recruits tried to absorb as much of this information as they could during the two weeks it took them to reach their home on the Rhine. They stayed at various road stations along the way, sleeping in the stalls next to their horses or wherever they could find a place
to lie down. The further north they went, the colder it became. Snow covered the landscape as they closed in on their destination. Artorius had never dealt easily with the cold, and he clutched his cloak as tightly around him as possible. One afternoon, they finally saw the town of Cologne and the fortress coming into sight.
Chapter IV: From Civilian to Soldier
***
“There it is lads,” Statorius said, “home of the Twentieth Legion, Valeria.”
“Lads?” Artorius muttered to Magnus. Statorius overheard his comment.
“Yes, lads, you’re all my boys, until I can make men of you. No one calls you ‘lads’, except me. If any of the other recruits calls you a ‘lad’ you have my permission to beat the shit out of him.”
This brought snorts of amusement from several of the men.
The recruits grew excited as they rode closer. The fortress was an impressive sight, indeed. What made it impressive was the permanence of the structure and its menacing appearance. There were several ditches surrounding the walls that were filled with jagged spikes and foot obstacles, though with the snow on the ground, the recruits could not see the contents of the ditches. The walls themselves were of stone and masonry, as were the guard towers. The gate was reinforced with metal strips. It was open, and there were several guards on duty just inside. Statorius showed them some papers, and they ushered him in.
The fortress resembled a small city more than anything, only it appeared to be cleaner and more organized. There were long rows of barracks, stables, blacksmith shops, bakeries, bathhouses, just about anything one could need. It looked as if one could get easily lost.
“How does one find his way around here?” Magnus asked.
“It’s not hard, once you understand the layout,” Decimus said. “Plus, after you’ve been inside one fortress, you can find your way around any, since all are identical in their layout. Here we are.”