Publius Gabinius stood and was recognized as Princeps Senatus. "As a matter of fact, I have been giving this problem consideration for some time and I think I've reached an acceptable solution."
"I am sure we'd all be glad to hear it," said Consul Scipio.
"As was just said, the eagle has always had pride of place, as the sacred bird of Jupiter. Likewise, many of the most potent omens sent to tell us of the gods' will in the matter of the reconquest came through the agency of eagles. I propose that, as part of the military reorganization now taking place, we make the eagle the standard for all the legions of Rome. The other totem creatures may be retained as standards for the lesser formations within the legions, and for the cohorts of auxilia."
"This is radical!" protested an old senator.
"No less radical than this project upon which we have embarked," Gabinius answered.
The debate that ensued lasted through much of the day, but in the end it was agreed upon. Henceforth, all the legions would follow the eagle.
Senator Gaius Licinius Rufus, overseer of armaments, toured the workshops of Gaul, where much of the ironwork for the legions was carried out. In the armor factories of the province he had been well pleased with the construction of the new mail shirts. For the sake of simplicity they had been standardized in three patterns: knee-length with shoulder doublings in the Greek or Gallic styles for the heavy infantry; mid-thigh length without shoulder doublings for light infantry; waist length with Gallic-style shoulder doublings for cavalry. The Gallic craftsmen were superb and meticulous. No Roman soldier would die because his armor was of shoddy quality.
Helmets were another matter. "This is dreadful!" Rufus said, turning the new helmet over in his hands. It was of a new pattern: Made entirely of iron, it was little more than a crude pot, descending a little below the ears in back, with a broad, flat neck guard, with cutouts for the ears and wide cheek guards cut back to clear the eyes and mouth. It had the crudest of finishes and entirely lacked the graceful rolled and roped edges of the traditional bronze helmets. It had no provision for crest or plumes and its only concession to decoration was a pair of crudely embossed eyebrows on the forehead.
"It's not pretty, I'll grant you that," said the master armorer. "But it's better protection than the old bronze pots. Ask any soldier whether he'd rather have a helmet that looks good on parade or one that'll keep a sword out of his skull and neck in battle."
"The lowest auxilia have better helmets than this!" Rufus protested. "The legions will rebel!"
"No they won't," said the armorer. "Fact is, if you want to raise ten entire new legions plus support troops and do it fast, you have to sacrifice some quality. It was decided to go for practicality instead of beauty. This helmet is stronger and better designed than the old ones and it doesn't require as much skilled labor. Look, later on, when things have settled down and the soldiers have a little money in their purses, they can tart these up as much as they like: add plumes and crests, solder enameled bosses on them, put bronze piping around the edges, cover them with gold leaf, whatever. In the meantime, they can fight in them."
"But Roman soldiers never went into battle looking ugly!" Rufus protested.
A month later he was in the valley of the Rhenus, looking over the new swords. Cut off from the wonderful iron deposits of Spain, the Romans had established their sword works here, where the tough local iron was excellent for swords and the heavy forests provided abundant charcoal for forging.
He walked down a long table, picking up and hefting some of the new weapons. As with the helmets, these swords had been simplified for mass production. The pommels were simple balls of hardwood, the grips of bone variously stepped, grooved or checkered for a firm grip. The blades were the sort the Romans favored: no more than twenty inches long, pointed and double-edged, but here some changes had been made. These looked like shortened versions of the cavalry longsword. Instead of the graceful curved edges that produced the traditional wasp waist, their edges were perfectly straight and parallel. Instead of the usual long, tapering point, these were short and acutely angled.
He had to admit that they balanced just as well in the hand as the old style. In fact, they felt somewhat better. A little experimenting on animal carcasses in a butcher's stall satisfied him that the odd-looking point penetrated just as efficiently as the old style and, as the swordmaker pointed out, it was stronger and less likely to bend against shield or armor. Rufus sighed. It was hard to turn loose of traditional things, but concessions would have to be made if they were to take back the Seven Hills. He pronounced himself and the Senate satisfied.
The Consuls inspected the new legions at a grand review on the Field of Mars. The older, established legions were already encamped at the foot of the mountains except for the four destined for Carthage and the war with Egypt. Those had already crossed into Italy.
"We are being watched," Consul Norbanus said.
"Naturally," said Consul Scipio. "Romans seldom get a spectacle like this."
"I mean we are being watched by those Greek merchants."
Quintus Scipio turned around. They stood atop the great reviewing platform from which the consuls and other magistrates traditionally inspected the massed legions. He saw the little knot of Greeks watching from the fringes of the crowd, their expressions intent and calculating.
"Yes. Well, they aren't very effective spies. Everyone knows them for inveterate liars. Do you think Hamilcar or anybody else would believe them were they to report what they see here?"
"Safer to kill them," said his father, Scipio Cyclops. As one who had held all the highest offices, he rated a place on the stand.
"Safer, perhaps, but would it be wise?" the younger Scipio remarked.
"What do you mean?" Norbanus wanted to know.
"If the merchants fail to return home, suspicions may be roused. They do not act entirely as individuals. They belong to syndicates. Inquiries will be made."
"There is that to consider," his father admitted.
"They're Greeks and they're merchants," Norbanus said. "Let's just bribe them."
"With what?" Quintus Scipio asked. "We've bankrupted the treasury preparing for this war."
Norbanus chuckled. "How innocent you are. A one-time cash payment is not how you bribe these people. They would just go to Hamilcar and demand a bigger bribe to tell what they know. He would be more likely to believe them if he has to pay for the information. No, the way to bribe them is with something that will continue paying them in the future. We are going to reestablish Rome in Italy. That will mean a whole new market for them. Promise them long-term contracts, monopolies and so forth. It's what they value."
"Excellent idea," Quintus Scipio said. "You can take care of the matter since it's your idea." He knew that part of each contract would stick to the ringers of his colleague, but that was only to be expected.
Three new legions stood on the Field of Mars, fully equipped. The rest would be ready in the next few months. These were mainly new recruits, with a leavening of veterans drawn from the established legions. All of the centurions and decurions were veterans, naturally. The raising of ten new legions had brought about an unprecedented rash of promotions. Men who mere months previously could not have expected to wear decurion's plumes for another ten years now gloried in the crest, vinestock and greaves of a centurion.
The military tribunes and senior staff were drawn from the senatorial class, and some of these glittered with bronze finery, colorful plumes and weapons decorated with precious metals. Others were as unadorned as the commonest legionary. There had been special elections to appoint the junior officers, special meetings of the Senate to approve the commanders and legati. As always where the Senate was concerned, there was maneuvering and shifting of alliances and voting blocs. The men lucky enough to hold high rank during the reconquest could look forward to glittering political careers. They would be the favorites at future elections; their names would appear on monuments. Prominent senators indebted themselves for years to come in order to secure these commissions for their sons.