The first spear nodded, and Scaurus held his gaze for a moment.
‘Carry on then, let’s see what the remaining two thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two are capable of, shall we?’
Quintinus waved his hand at the trumpeters to his left, and a blare of sound set the legion’s centurions into action. At their shouted commands, the odd-numbered centuries marched forward out of the line towards the review stand until they were thirty paces from their remaining comrades. Halting with a clatter of hobnailed boots they performed an impressively co-ordinated about-face that hinted at their foot drill being well practised. The even-numbered centuries had not been idle, each of them having quickly formed a protective testudo, their shields raised to provide them with the protection to their front and flanks, while the men inside the formation overlapped their shields to form a roof overhead.
The front ranks of the odd-numbered centuries stamped forward, a shower of practice javelins arcing from their line to hammer at the testudos’ shields with a rattle like hail on roof tiles. In one of the target centuries, a man in the front rank was unlucky enough to be hit on the foot by a lucky throw, hopping out of the formation in evident agony just as the second volley arrived. The wooden tip of another javelin thumped into his thigh, and as he started back in fresh agony a second weapon hit him squarely in the face, felling him with a boneless slump that told its own story. Quintinus looked at Scaurus, but the legatus shook his head solemnly.
‘Continue. The men will see much worse soon enough.’
With another peal of horns the opposing centuries reversed their roles, the odd numbers forming testudo with practised ease, while their counterparts hurled their own practice weapons across the gap between them, the rattle of their wooden heads testament to the shields’ robust defence. With all of their javelins thrown, the two lines reformed, still facing each other with the casualty lying between them, and the soldiers waited while a bandage carrier and his mates ran across the parade ground to where the comatose soldier lay. They gathered around the man for a moment, the stretcher bearers waiting while their leader knelt beside the man. After a moment, one of them staggered away from the huddle of men and vomited onto the parade ground’s surface, clearly unable to stomach the nature of the man’s injuries. Rolling his body onto the stretcher so that he was lying face down, the medical party carried him away, while the legion’s soldiers maintained a respectful silence. The first spear signalled again, and the two lines drew their practice swords.
‘I do so enjoy this part of the exercise!’
Scaurus nodded at his senior tribune’s enthusiasm, watching as the opposing centuries started their barritus, the war cry building slowly until they were bellowing at each other at the tops of their voices. Then, with a swift sweep of their vine sticks, the centurions on either side unleashed their men, the centuries dashing forward into a pitched mock battle that seemed to the legatus almost recklessly enthusiastic.
‘You trust your men to pull their blows, First Spear?’
Quintinus spoke without taking his eyes off the melee.
‘For the most part, Legatus. And I’ll admit that this scale of mock battle is a special treat for the Third, as a means of showing you that our men aren’t quite as effeminate as some commentators would have you believe.’
Scaurus shook his head brusquely.
‘You forget that I was the previous governor’s inspector of troops for two years. I wouldn’t have thought for a moment that your men were anything less than professional soldiers. And I suppose this sort of mass brawl does allow them to get rid of their excess energy …’
Scaurus paused, giving the senior centurion a knowing glance.
‘And a chance to even out any scores that might have been festering. Very well, I’ve seen enough.’
The horns sounded again, and the two sides separated and reformed their individual centuries, half a dozen men limping away from either side at the command of their centurions, some clutching their sides and one staggering, supported by another man. Tribune Umbrius leaned forward in his saddle, raising an eyebrow at Scaurus.
‘What a fine display! Don’t you think so, Legatus? Roman military prowess at its most impressive, and a fine advertisement for the superiority of the legion! Do your auxiliaries perform their drill that well, First Spear?’
Julius, who had watched the display in silence, replied with a commendably straight face.
‘I very much doubt it, Tribune. My men have been a little too preoccupied with fighting actual battles to spend much time working on the finer points of drill and hitting each other with bits of wood, sir.’
Umbrius frowned, taken aback by the subtle rebuttal.
‘You didn’t tell us that your men had combat experience, Legatus?’
Scaurus smiled thinly.
‘I don’t recall you asking the question, Tribune, but since the matter of my men’s combat experience has finally arisen, I’ll allow my first spear to list the Tungrian cohorts’ recent battle honours.’
Julius spoke without taking his eyes off the legion’s ranks.
‘We fought off ten thousand barbarians at the start of the recent revolt in Britannia …’ He nodded at his colleague Quintinus’s raised eyebrows. ‘We had some luck, and after that it was mostly down to carefully chosen ground, sound motivation …’
He smiled grimly.
‘That and the fact that there was nowhere to run. We’ve fought four other major engagements in Britannia, and a number of other skirmishes, sieges of barbarian fortresses, that sort of thing.’
He paused for a moment, and Umbrius drew breath to speak.
‘Then there was Germania, hunting bandits, dirty fighting for the most part although we did kill a few hundred of them once we got down to it. And Dacia, putting a Sarmatae tribe back in their place. And a small army of German auxiliaries too, when they decided to mutiny and take over a gold mine which the legatus here had been detailed to secure.’
He paused, pointing out across the parade ground.
‘It seems your horsemen are ready to perform.’
The legion first spear stared at him for a moment before turning to the trumpeter. At the signal the legion’s one-hundred-and-twenty-strong horsemen cantered proudly into the open space in front of the legion’s line of cohorts, and Julius grinned at the sight of half a dozen centurions wielding their vine sticks at men they suspected to be the source of clearly audible ribald comments aimed at the cavalry.
‘Your squadrons of horses seem to be pretty much up to strength.’
Tribune Umbrius nodded in silence, doing his best to ignore his new legatus’s questioning look. Julius stared out at the horsemen, nodding appreciatively.
‘And well drilled, from the look of things.’
Umbrius leaned forward again.
‘Indeed so, First Spear. They routinely train with our resident Phrygian cavalry wing, the governor’s own bodyguard. Their prefect is a proper Roman gentleman, and a master horseman to boot.’
‘And the governor has taken them under his wing, so to speak?’
Umbrius laughed at Scaurus’s joke.
‘Very good, Legatus, a wing under his wing. Yes indeed, and he takes a close interest in their being fully manned and equipped.’
Scaurus smiled back at him.
‘I’m sure he does.’
The cavalrymen were performing a flawless demonstration of horsemanship. Having expended their spears at a row of man-sized targets, with an accuracy that had Julius nodding appreciatively, they drew bows from the cases strapped to their saddles and proceeded to ride at the targets, one squadron at a time, loosing one arrow before turning their horses about, another shot loosed over each rider’s shoulder demonstrating the same expertise as the previous arrow.
‘The Phrygian’s prefect has had his men practising shooting from the saddle for most of the year. That last little trick is called-’