by James Mace
“Not bad,” Artorius remarked, breathing rather heavily. “Since when did you start taking sparring seriously?”
“Since I figured you shouldn’t be the only one in the century vying for the title of Legion Champion,” Magnus replied, rubbing his wrist and the back of his neck.
Artorius smiled wide and nodded in respect to his friend.
“Well, do us both a favor and give me a better run for it when the actual competition comes!”
Chapter VII: The Centurions’ Council
***
Gaius Silius sat at the head of the meeting hall, along with the military tribunes and Master Centurion Flavius. Flavius would have the final say once the counsel of centurions voted on his successor. At the table directly below the legate’s platform sat all of the cohort commanders, along with the centurions of the First Cohort. Given the importance of selecting a suitable man to hold the highest position in the legion a common soldier could hope to achieve, the debates would prove to be long and tedious. Though all centurions were professionals and would vote for whomever they felt was most fit, it would be hard for them not to show loyalty to their own cohort commanders and vote for them. Such potential impasses had to be avoided as much as possible. Silius deliberately kept from announcing Flavius’ retirement too soon, lest the candidates for the position start focusing all their energies on politicking their fellow centurions. Word had still gotten out and much political effort had already been exerted by those seeking to become the primus pilus.
Flavius had been a soldier for so long he knew of little else. His wife, Marcia, was the ideal military spouse. She had been supportive through every campaign, dressed his wounds from battle upon his return, and held him in the night when the nightmares born of horrors he suffered to protect her and the Empire came. She bore him two fine sons, one of whom was a scholar, the other a legionary like his father. He had three grandchildren from his eldest son, and thought it not right that a grandfather should still go off to war. He wished to retire and spend more time with his wife and grandchildren while he was still in the prime of his health.
His finances were more than sound. His pension from the army would be impressive, plus he would be elevated to membership within the patrician class. He would be able to stand for offices such as Tribune of the Plebes, with even the possibility of becoming a provisional governor. He smiled at the thought. He, in fact, relished the thought of a peaceful tenure in a position where he could still serve Rome. Marcia would be pleased.
“The position of centurion primus pilus is the highest a soldier from the ranks can hope to achieve,” Silius spoke. “He is the senior advisor to the legion commander, answering only to him. His responsibilities include not only leading the elite First Cohort into battle, but also the development and mentoring of all centurions and other officers within the legion. It is an epic responsibility, requiring that the man chosen truly be a Master Centurion.
“All of you have personal loyalties to friends and fellow centurions who will be standing for this position. You must put personal loyalties aside and focus only on which of these men is best suited to be your master centurion. Which of these men possesses the greatest skill in battle, the most ingenious tactical savvy, and the soundest leadership? It is up for you to decide.” With that, he took his seat.
Deliberations continued for some time. Each candidate stood before the assembly, his merits, and awards for valor, and experience laid out. Since it would take a clear majority for a decision to be made, there were numerous votes-off after the initial tally. After each voting, those with the fewest in number were removed from consideration and left the table to join their peers in voting. After three rounds, Centurion Primus Ordo Aemilius, Centurion Primus Ordo Draco, and Centurion Pilus Prior Calvinus were the remaining candidates.
All three were legendary soldiers in their own right. Aemilius was a superior cavalryman who had fought beside the allied Batavi tribesmen during the wars against Arminius. He had been awarded the Civic Crown for saving the lives of numerous Batavi auxiliaries during the fierce fighting along the Weser River. For him, the award was bittersweet, seeing as how he had failed to save Batavi War Chief Chariovalda, who had been a close friend of his.
Draco was a tactical genius and a master of “shock” tactics. He epitomized the Roman ability to adapt to adverse situations in the heat of battle. Often times he was able to manipulate the enemy’s strengths against them. Nothing pleased him more than misleading the enemy into thinking he had the Romans outmatched, only to be led into a trap with disastrous consequences. One tactic he was famous for was keeping half his javelins in reserve during an engagement. As his men closed with the barbarians, he would unleash a second javelin storm just as contact was made. His legionaries would then fall into a hasty wedge and charge full-tilt into the barbarians. His men were so well-drilled at this maneuver that the effects were devastating.
Calvinus, the only cohort commander still in the running, was a legend for reasons he wished he wasn’t. He had been one of the few to survive the disaster in Teutoburger Wald, something that still haunted him. Only two other soldiers survived from his century and, while he blamed himself for the deaths of the rest of his men, most gave him credit for saving the ones that he did. Cassius Chaerea, the senior officer who led out most of the survivors, credited Calvinus’ sound leadership for keeping himself and his men alive. In fact, Tiberius, at the behest of Cassius, would later award Calvinus the Civic Crown for saving the lives of more than one hundred men during the aftermath of the battle. Calvinus went on to lead the Fifth Cohort during the campaigns of retribution against Arminius. His men had been particularly ruthless, looking to avenge their centurion.
After another voting tally, Silius was smiling; clearly a sign the assembly had, at last, come to a decision.
“A majority has been reached,” he announced. “The votes cast by the centurions of the Twentieth Legion in electing the new centurion primus pilus are as follows: Centurion Primus Ordo Draco: ten votes. Centurion Primus Ordo Aemilius: fifteen votes. Centurion Pilus Prior Calvinus: thirty votes.”
Calvinus beamed when he heard the results. Aemilius closed his eyes, trying to mask his disappointment. Draco grimaced slightly and nodded in acknowledgment.
“Do any here object to the appointment of Centurion Calvinus to this position?” Silius then asked. The room was silent. Silius looked over towards Flavius. “Master Centurion Flavius, do you approve of the assembly’s decision?”
Flavius rose to his feet and addressed everyone in his ever commanding voice. “I have served with Centurion Calvinus since he came to the Twentieth Legion over ten years ago,” he began. “His service as a cohort commander has been distinguished, his valor in battle exemplary. To the centurions of the First Cohort I say this; Calvinus’ appointment is by no means a discredit to any of you. You are still the elite commanders of this legion. I trust Calvinus will be welcome as a brother into your ranks. He will lead you well.” He then turned to his chosen successor. “Centurion Calvinus, you have been given the greatest responsibility of any soldier within this legion. Every man from the lowest legionary to the centurions primus ordo will be looking to you as their example. Do right by them and continue to honor your legion.” With that, Flavius briskly exited the hall.
As a whole, the centurions of the legion rose to their feet and gave a loud ovation to the man who would soon be their master centurion.
Afterwards, Calvinus found he was alone with the four centurions of the First Cohort.
Draco was the first to speak. “Calvinus, the counsel of centurions has chosen well.” He extended his hand.
“I have to say, I thought the position would be mine,” Aemilius added. “However, I see that my peers felt differently. Know that we will serve you well,” Aemilius added, shaking Calvinus’ hand heartily.
The rest of the men followed suite, all congratulating Calvinus and promising to work well with him.
“Calvinus, your respons
ibilities have just been magnified ten-fold,” Flavius told him in private. “Leading the first cohort is one of your many primary tasks. There is much talent in this Cohort, and I advise you to use it well. Your main focus will be training and mentoring the junior centurions, as well as advising the legate and chief tribune. They will be looking to you for answers. When dealing with them, it is best to guide them so they can figure things out on their own. Sometimes they need a little nudge of experience to show them the way.” He handed Calvinus a goblet of wine.
“I am a little nervous about my appointment,” Calvinus admitted after taking a long pull off his wine.
Flavius waved him to take a seat.
“I’ve been a cohort commander for so long, it is what I am most comfortable with.” He continued. “I don’t know if I can live up to administering to the machinations of an entire legion.”
Flavius sat back, his fingers steeple under his chin as he listened.
“Calvinus, none of us ever are,” he replied. “I had more than my fair share of pitfalls when I first took the reins of primus pilus. You’ve got good men to work with. Let the primi ordinones run the First Cohort. The First is self-sufficient as it is. Focus your leadership at the legion level. Make yourself available to the cohort commanders and junior centurions. Legates and chief tribunes come and go, but you will be the mortar which holds this legion together.”
“You leave me with a vast responsibility,” Calvinus said. “I hope I prove to be a worthy successor.”
“You will,” Flavius reassured. “For it is you whom I wanted to replace me.”
Calvinus raised his eyebrows. “Why? You worked with the first rank centurions for so long, surely you would have wanted one of them to take over.” Flavius grinned and shook his head. “Calvinus, I see you still have much to learn.” Flavius finished his wine and signaled for a servant to refill his cup. “Just because I may be more familiar with the First Cohort’s Centurions does not mean I felt one of them was most worthy. Perhaps I should have done more to ensure one of them was more ready for the responsibility. All are fully capable of legion-level command. However, there is something about you that instills the men with respect and admiration for you.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you, Flavius,” Calvinus replied. “Draco and Aemilius are both my equals, if not my betters when it comes to tactics and strategy.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Flavius said, a slight trace of disappointment in his voice. “Draco can shatter the most disciplined enemy phalanx with his unorthodox tactics, and Aemilius has proven invaluable with his ability to work with our allied cavalry units. They are also two of the bravest men I have ever met. What separates you from them is your ability to work with the legion as a whole, not just your particular cohort.
“The first cohort oftentimes acts as its own entity, apart from the rest of the legion. Granted, the veterans of the cohort have earned the right to be a little bit elitist. A Master Centurion is the first spear of the entire legion, not just the First Cohort. Your peers know you; they know how to work with you. While none doubts Draco or Aemilius’ abilities, they do not know how they would be to work under. They know what falling under your command will mean. I’ve spoken to all of the centurions within the First Cohort and made my feelings clear to them. While I encouraged each to make his case before the assembly, they knew you were the one to beat. They realize you have the confidence and backing of the entire Valeria Legion.”
Sacrovir looked over the council of tribal chiefs he assembled. For most, the term “tribal” meant little anymore. Many had long since adopted the dress and manner of the Romans. They lived in lavish estates or in great halls, yet the price of their existence was eternal servitude to Rome, something which these men found to be intolerable. The leaders of the Andecavi and Turani tribes were conspicuously absent. Sacrovir held a separate meeting with them, and their part of the plan was already in the works. Little did they know, theirs was merely a ruse; they would be led by Sacrovir as lambs to the slaughter. Heracles and Florus sat on either side of him. Also with him was Julius Indus, a nobleman of Florus’ Treveri tribe. His cavalry regiment was stationed to the east, and Florus looked to subvert them to their cause.
“The Andecavi and Turani are ready to make war on Rome,” Florus announced.
This caused a stir amongst the various chiefs.
“Then we must rise up and support them!” a chief named Belenus shouted as he rose to his feet, a meaty fist in the air. “Let us join our valiant cousins in the liberation of our lands!”
The others started to clamor, voicing their support.
Florus looked at Sacrovir, who shook his head. “If we rise up now, every Roman legion within a thousand miles of here will be on our doorstep. What we need now is a ruse, a diversion, something that will lull the Romans into thinking they have our loyalty and support.” “What are you getting at, Sacrovir?” Belenus asked suspiciously.
Sacrovir smiled wickedly. “We will join forces with the Romans, our men fighting as auxiliaries against the Andecavi and Turani.” The chiefs were appalled.
Sacrovir was quick to explain. “These tribes are only a minor political force within the region. Their numbers are few, and the Romans will scarcely unleash the entire Rhine Army on them, if they think they have our support. They will send a handful of legionaries who will bear witness to our loyalty. They will report back that the province is secure, which, in turn, will cause the Emperor to become complacent in his dealings with us. It will also give our army a chance to test itself in battle, a ramp-up to the real campaign, if you will.
“When the time is right, we will lead our forces in a full-scale revolt, smashing whatever minor legionary forces remain in the region,” his voice rose. “This will send a message to Tiberius that he should abandon his plans for keeping Gaul Roman.”
There was a hushed silence as the war chiefs contemplated Sacrovir’s plan. Only Heracles and the Sequani chief, Taranis, seemed to be amused at the idea.
“Your plan is sound,” Taranis conceded. “This battle will provide our men with the confidence and experience they need. Once we make an example of the legionary forces, the Emperor will see that re-conquest of Gaul will be a futile effort.”
“Let us not forget the significance of the death of Germanicus,” Heracles added. “Rumors abound that Tiberius himself was directly involved in his death. The Rhine Legions cherish the memory of the son of Drusus and will be reluctant to conduct a full-scale invasion at the behest of his murderer.”
“When will this battle take place?” Belenus asked Sacrovir directly.
“All in good time.”
Chapter VIII: Legion Champion
***
With every century within the legion supplying a candidate, there was an initial field of fifty-nine soldiers competing for the title of Legion Champion. To make it an even bracket, five additional competitors would be allowed to enter. Since there was a plethora of volunteers, a mini-tournament was held the week before the competition. There were twenty legionaries vying for these five spots. A man would have to win two matches in a row in order to earn a placing.
Artorius was assisting Magnus in getting ready for his first match. As chief weapons instructor, Artorius was assured the honor of representing the Second Century. Oddly enough, Magnus was the only other in the century who wished to compete for one of the remaining vacancies, and even then did so reluctantly. Artorius had been persistent in his insistence that Magnus compete. The two men trained together for several weeks in preparation for this event, and Artorius was confident his friend would have little difficulty getting a place in the main bracket.
“You ready for this?” Artorius asked as he checked Magnus’ chinstrap and helmet.
“I think so,” he replied. “This is the first time I have sparred with someone outside the century.”
“Doesn’t mean anything. Do like we’ve been training, and you will be alright.” With that he gave his friend
a slap on the shoulder and walked over to where numerous legionaries were crammed into the stands.
This was the first time in many years they were using the arena.
Magnus walked to the center of the arena and stood face to face with a legionary from the Seventh Cohort. The man was young, looked to be just barely out of recruit training. A signifier served as the marshal.
“Alright, you guys know how this works,” he stated. “You fight until one man scores what would be a lethal blow with a service weapon. Listen to my commands, and break off fighting when I tell you to. Any questions?”
Both men shook their heads. The two combatants settled into their fighting stances. The young legionary looked nervous facing the big Norseman. At the sound of a whistle they came together. Magnus braced behind his shield and bore hard into the legionary. The young man held his ground but was rocked by the force of Magnus’ attack. Magnus continued to let their shields collide as he punched and looked for openings. The legionary he was facing had the basic skills, but no real experience. With a quick step to his right, Magnus brought his shield back hard against the young man’s, continued to circle to his right, and then reached down and quickly stabbed him in the back of the leg. The young man gave a yelp of surprise as Magnus seized the advantage. He had the legionary’s shield tied up and was able to circle far enough to stab him in the back at the kidneys. The legionary gave a yell of pain and frustration as the whistle blew again, and he knew he was beaten.