Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul by R. W. Peake Page B

,” he snarled by way of greeting, “I was expecting half of you to be gone like the sorry specimens you replaced.”
     
    This was a shock; it was the first we heard that we were not just original drafts but instead had replaced others. As we learned the story over the next few days, we were added to the Legion to replace tiros in the Second Cohort that failed to measure up, for one reason or another. Rather than sprinkling us into the Centuries of the Cohort that lost men, they instead consolidated by moving the men who were in our Century out to the ones that had missing men. The logic was obvious; at least, once it was explained to us. The other Centuries were all at more advanced stages of training, and dropping in a brand new tiro into one of them would have been a hardship that compromised the training of the other Centuries. Instead our Century, the First Century, was selected to be the one to dole out men to make a hole to fill, with members of the First Century serving as replacements for those who had fallen out. Like with most things in the army, once explained it made perfect sense. It was just relatively rare that things were clarified for us, especially as time passed. The more experienced we were, the less it was considered important to at least give us an idea of what was going on or why we were doing something; we were just expected to obey as if the order came from Jupiter’s mouth directly to our ears. Again, if one thinks about it, it makes some sense. By that time, you are indoctrinated in the ways of the Legion. In your first days, you are still more citizen than Legionary, and as part of the process, there is a certain amount of explanation that is given to you. Not much, but a little, which is more than more experienced Legionaries got.
     
    This also explained why we were in the First Century, so we could have the undivided attention of the Pilus Prior, not that we were very appreciative. He marched us over to the forum, and we picked up where we left off the day before, learning the basic drill movements and commands. Over and over, with the word “ Repitate ” ringing in our ears, along with the sting of his vitus to help remind us, we marched up and down, up and down. The only break in the monotony was in mid-morning, when the last member of our tent section joined us, having drawn his gear and been escorted by either Sergeant Calienus or the Optio to our tent. He was introduced to us as Marcus Atilius, and he slotted into our line between Scribonius and Didius, much to the relief of Scribonius. Atilius appeared to be somewhat older than the rest of us, with the exception of Calienus, though it turned out to be more a case of hard living. When he joined us, he wore the same look as Vibius the morning before, somewhat pale and a little unsteady on his feet, the result of a particularly festive farewell party, or so we thought at the time. However, we would learn that every day was an occasion for a festival as far as Atilius was concerned. Because he was also behind in learning the basic movements, we were told to run around the camp along the Via Sagularis , the road that runs around the inside perimeter of the camp along the walls, while he received personal instruction.
     
    When we all hesitated for a moment, confused, the Pilus Prior snapped, “Well? What are you waiting for?”
     
    “How many times, Pilus Prior?”
     
    This came from Scribonius, which is exactly what I wanted to know, but thank the gods he beat me to it, because it earned nothing more than a smack with the vitus and a snarled, “Until I tell you to stop, you idiot.”
     
    With that pleasant admonition, we began to run. Being in the lead, I set what I thought would be a pace that everyone could keep up with, yet would be sufficiently quick enough not to earn a beating from the Pilus Prior. However, I miscalculated, badly. While Cyclops made Vibius and I do plenty of exercises that helped our dexterity and overall