Roman - The Fall of Britannia (13 page)

The silence was
absolute and everyone stared at the impressive officer. At last he
spoke, his voice carrying strongly to everyone on the parade
ground.

‘
Citizens of Rome,’ he shouted, ‘I am your commanding officer,
Legate Nasica,’ he paused briefly before adding, ‘and I salute
you.’

A murmur flitted
around the recruits before he continued.

‘
As
you have taken the sacramentum to serve Rome, your lives now belong
to us. From this day forward your existence will become a blur of
training and hardship. There will be pain and misery, but I make no
apology, for these are the predecessors of the professional
soldier. All your instructors are battle veterans and have been
handpicked. Over the next few months, they will train you to the
standard I expect and that standard is greater than any other
legion.’

‘
You
will be expected to march further than you thought possible, your
blistered feet pouring with blood, but it is then you will double
the distance.’

He spurred his
horse to parade slowly along the ranks of the gathered
trainees.

‘
When the muscle in your arms ache to such an extent that you
can no longer wield a sword, it is then that you will strike twice
as hard. When your back breaks from the burden you carry, and your
fellow falls at the wayside, you will take his pack and carry him
forward. At the end of the day, when your body is incapable of
doing any more and you are physically sick through pain and
exhaustion, it is then that you will unpack your digging tools and
build the defences. This is what we do. We train hard, for when the
training is hard, the fighting is easy.’

‘
Heed your instructors,’ he continued, ‘for during this pain,
they will be alongside you. Their feet will also blister and their
bodies will ache for their blood is as Roman as yours. Do this and
I promise that you will emerge a military machine the likes of
which this world has never seen before.’

‘
Before this year is out, Rome will embark on a new campaign
in a country as yet unconquered. We do this in the name of
civilization, and return a rightful King to his throne.’

‘
Britannia lays off the coast of Gaul a hundred miles to the
west,’ continued Nasica. ‘We will return this exiled King to his
country and spread civilization to his deprived people. The
merchants, who already trade there, say that they are truly a
barbaric race, worshiping the Gods of the underworld and
sacrificing their children in unspeakable ceremonies. We will bring
peace and prosperity to this oppressed and misguided people, ending
their despicable acts and bring law and order into their miserable
lives. Make no mistake, they will resist, for it is said they are a
warlike race, but they will be no match for our legions. Some of
you will pay the ultimate price, but I promise you this. Your lives
will be filled with honour and a comradeship that will stay with
you till the day you die.

‘
So
look around you, for you are all brothers and your lives lie with
the man next to you. I leave you in the hands of your instructors
and the next time we meet, I will lead you to the shores of
Britannia.’

Without another
word, he rode his horse back into the fort, closely followed by the
armed guard. The recruits started to relax, looking to their
Tessaria for direction. They split into their ten training
centuries and spread out around the arena to pre-determined areas.
At the orders of one of the Tessaria, Cassus’s group rearranged
into a large circle for their first lesson as Tirones, trainee
soldiers of Rome. Cassus and Prydain talked excitedly amongst
themselves. This was it. This was what they had waited for all
their lives and the great adventure was about to begin. Gradually
the chatter died away and silence fell.

‘
Get
out of my way!’ said a quiet voice and some of the recruits
shuffled sideways to allow a previously unseen soldier to enter the
circle.

The legionary
walked slowly around the front rank of the circle, his hand ever
present on the hilt of his Gladius as he went, staring each man in
the eye as he passed. Dressed in a scarlet tunic and lightly
armoured, he commanded respect. Everyone present realized this was
an experienced veteran, whom no one should mess with. His tunic was
held at the waist with a polished sword belt. His Gladius hung on
his right and his Pugio, the narrow leaf-shaped dagger favoured by
most legionaries on the left. Though he wore no armour on his
torso, his arms were each protected with Manica, the chain mail
sleeves designed to protect the forearms from enemy sword thrusts
in the heat of battle. Similarly, his legs were covered by sheet
metal Greaves, designed for the same purpose.

He made his way
to the centre of the circle and stood as if waiting for something
to happen. The recruits were deathly silent, totally transfixed by
this veteran of countless campaigns and the epitome of everything
they hoped to be. Eventually he removed his helmet and cast it
aside into the sand and tilting his head back, drew in a lungful of
the cold morning air. His bald head shone in the morning sunlight,
and his muscular neck sat on abnormally straight shoulders. His
face was weathered with one side hanging slightly lower than the
other, a by-product of an African cudgel in a long forgotten
campaign, and a leather patch covered an empty eye socket. He
stared at the circle of men.

‘
Which of you can handle a sword?’ he asked.

When nobody
answered, he walked up to the nearest recruit.

‘
How
about you?’

‘
I
am a carpenter, Sir,’ said the man, ‘I have never handled a
sword.’

He looked around
the circle again.

‘
You?’ he asked, jabbing his finger into the chest of a giant
of a man to the side of Prydain. ‘You are the ugliest brute I have
ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. You must have killed a
few men in your time.’

‘
I
have also never used a sword,’ the man stammered nervously, ‘I am a
farm labourer, Sir.’

The instructor
spat on the floor.

‘
What is this they give me?’ he shouted to the sky, ‘I ask for
men and they give me babes. What chance do I have?’

He dropped his
gaze to look at Prydain.

‘
How
about you boy?’ he asked.

Before Prydain
could answer, Cassus piped up.

‘
He
is the son of a Gladiator, Sir,’ he said, ‘and can handle a sword
as good as any man.’

The instructor
stepped forward until he was close to the much younger man,
focussing on Prydain’s eyes with interest.

‘
One
blue and one brown,’ he said, ‘interesting. Few men are blessed
with the devil’s stare and it is said that those who are, will be
destined for greatness or infamy. Which will you be boy?’ he asked.
‘Hero or coward.’

‘
Only the Gods know,’ answered Prydain.

‘
Perhaps,’ said the soldier. ‘Let’s see if we can get a
glimpse of the man you will become, shall we?’

‘
Which blade?’ he asked suddenly, turning away from Prydain
and striding back toward the centre of the circle of
men.

‘
Gladius, Sir,’ answered Prydain.’

‘
Gladius,’ repeated the instructor with a nod of appreciation
as he started to undo the straps on the Manica on one arm. ‘And
where did you learn this?’

‘
My
father fought in the arenas,’ answered Prydain, ‘and when I was a
boy he taught me to fight.’

‘
Trained by a Gladiator,’ the instructor announced to the
circle of men with mock pride. ‘Impressive!’

‘
What is your name, boy?’ he asked turning again to face
Prydain.

‘
Prydain Maecilius, Sir,’ he said, ‘Freedman of the house of
Gaius Pelonius Maecilius.’

‘
Freedman!’ he said with undisguised contempt. ‘So you were a
slave and some idiot not only gave you your freedom, but made you a
citizen as well?’

‘
I
have the correct paperwork, Sir,’ said Prydain, ‘everything is in
order!’

‘
Well, Prydain Maecilius,’ said the instructor, ‘it just so
happens that I too can use a Gladius and would you believe it, I
happen to have one right here.’

He drew the
weapon from its scabbard and walked over to face Prydain once
again. He pressed the blade of the sword against Prydain’s
throat.

‘
Lesson one, slave-boy,’ he said, ‘never, ever, call me sir
again. Those officers and politicians, who you address as Sir, are
not fit to eat my shit. My name is Remus and my rank was, and as
far as you are concerned, still is Optio. From now on, you will all
address me by that title. Is that clear?’

‘
Yes, Sir…I mean, Optio,’ came the muted reply.

Prydain’s head
tilted right back to avoid the point of the blade piercing his
throat.

‘
Is
that clear?’ screamed the instructor.

‘
Yes, Optio
!’ shouted Prydain, his voice echoing around
the parade ground.

‘
Good,’ he smiled, revealing a line of broken and missing
teeth. ‘Now the introductions are over, let’s get
started.’

He turned around
and walked back to the centre of the circle. A slave ran forward
and loosened the leather ties fastening the Greaves to his legs and
as he did so, Optio Remus undid his remaining Manica. Both sets of
armour were cast aside before he drew his Pugio and tossed it next
to his helmet. Finally, he stood there, donned in red tunic only,
but still holding his Gladius in his hand.

He spun the
sword into the air and caught it by the blade, hilt facing away
from him. With lightning speed, he threw it like a dagger toward
Prydain. It span through the air and embedded itself deep in the
sand between Prydain’s legs.

‘
Pick it up!’ he ordered.

Prydain picked
up the sword, folding his fingers around the hilt as he felt its
familiar weight and balance.

‘
Listen very carefully, Prydain Maecilius, freedman of the
house of Pelonius Maecilius,’ said the Optio sarcastically, ‘you
are about to receive your first order from me. If you refuse, I
will kill you! If you argue, I will kill you! If you question my
order, I will kill you! Do I make myself clear?’

‘
Yes, Optio,’ said Prydain, a look of apprehension creeping
into his face.

‘
Sorry,’ said Optio through a sickly smile, ‘I didn’t quite
hear you,’ His smile evaporated and he growled the question again.
‘Do you understand?’

‘
Yes, Optio!’ roared Prydain again.

‘
Good,’ said the older man his tone instantly placatory, ‘then
listen very carefully.’

He stepped a
pace back and opened his arms wide emphasizing the fact he was
totally unarmed and vulnerable.

‘
Prydain Maecilius,’ he said, ‘I order you to kill
me!’

----

Chapter
9

Prydain stared
at the Optio across the sand.

‘
What’s the matter, slave-boy?’ sneered Remus. ‘Isn’t this
exactly what you joined up for? Excitement, adventure,’ his voice
dropped, ‘the chance to kill a fellow man!’

Prydain thought
furiously and started to say something before stopping suddenly
mid-sentence. Remus’s raised eyebrows reminded him of the lethal
ultimatum he had just been given. The whole group were silent,
eighty trainees and eight instructors, all holding their breath as
they waited for someone to make a move. Those at the rear strained
to see what was happening over the heads of those in front, each
wondering who would move first, the Optio with his arms open wide
presenting an easy target, or the recruit standing in shock, the
acquired Gladius hanging limply by his side.

‘
It’s very simple,’ continued Remus calmly. ‘The choice is
clear. Kill or be killed. A choice that is faced every day by
better men than you, all across the empire. Your life or mine,
slave-boy, which do you hold dearest?’

Prydain realized
he had no choice. It was obviously a set up designed to show off
the instructor’s prowess in sword play and he had no doubt that
Remus would be able to disarm most men, but Prydain was no ordinary
man. Karim had taught him, and everyone knew that Karim had been
second to no man in the arena.

He looked down
at the Gladius, all Karim’s instruction coming back to him. Most
untrained men would hack at an opponent, lifting the weapon high
and opening up their own torsos for blows to the ribs. But Prydain
knew better. The Gladius had been designed for thrusting into an
exposed opponent and demanded a different technique. He span the
sword in his hand and sprang forward into the stance of one used to
handling the Gladius. His feet were placed shoulder width apart,
left foot half a step forward of the right.

His body was
twisted slightly to the right and he held the Gladius at chest
level, pointing toward his opponent. Despite his not having a
shield, his left hand was extended forward in a natural defence
against any attack that the Optio may bring.

Remus
smiled.

‘
That’s more like it,’ he said. ‘Come on, slave-boy, do your
worst.’