Legionary

Chapter 14

Pavo grimaced, blinking the sweat from his eyes under the afternoon sun. He gulped at the hot air, surveying the damage to the training dummy in the centre of the yard. The sorry heap of rags and sand bags hung in tatters. His hacking, stabbing and butting at it with his training sword had started shortly after lunch, when he sneaked from the back of the column sentenced to latrine detail. Spurius and Festus had kept a low profile for the last few days while Centurion Brutus had his eye on the situation. This presented Pavo a perfect opportunity for a little extra training — not the drill and formation stuff but robust, one-on-one fighting.

And it was damned hard work. His sweat-soaked tunic clung to him like mail armour and his legs trembled; he gazed up at the dipping sun and slumped to the dust. Enough for today. He began the trudge back to the barracks, when he heard the unmistakable gruff laughter of Spurius from the latrines.

Pavo turned to eye the dummy, envisioning the hulking figure of his nemesis. He tried to burn the menacing scowls of his tormentor onto the image. Whatever his problem was, there had to be an end to this.

Snorting, he launched himself at the dummy, crashing the side of the sword into the imaginary Spurius’ midriff. He ducked under the would-be counter swing and then attempted to spring round to his opponents’ flank, but his legs betrayed him, tangling and casting him rather ungraciously in the dust. He sat up and wrung his hands across his stubbled scalp.

‘Idiot!’ He cursed, spitting dust.

‘Well done. Made a good job of defeating yourself there,’ a voice called out from the side of the yard. Pavo looked up, startled. Leaning on the short wooden fence was Centurion Brutus.

‘I’ve done my share of the latrine detail,’ Pavo stammered. ‘I was just trying to put in some extra practice.’

Brutus snorted, strolling around the fence and onto the yard. ‘I don’t remember giving you a set number of latrines each to slop out?’

Pavo reddened, his tongue welded to the roof of his mouth.

‘At ease, lad.’ Brutus spoke gently. ‘Numerius Vitellius Pavo, from the streets of Constantinople I believe. A freedman, too?’ Brutus cocked an eyebrow.

Pavo still felt surprise when someone or something reminded him of his freedom, and the hot shame and invisible shackles of slavery still cuffed his mind. ‘Freed only so I could come here and be killed,’ Pavo sighed. ‘My father was a legionary, though,’ he added, puffing his chest out.

‘My father was a slave,’ Brutus stated, his face stern. ‘Worked himself to death, he did — bought freedom for my mother and I with his death payout.’

Pavo gulped, scared to speak.

Brutus pulled a one-sided grin. ‘You want to learn how to look after yourself properly, right?’

‘Right. I mean, yes, sir,’ Pavo replied, his mind spinning — the sadist wore just a hint of warmth on his craggy face.

‘I’ve served for over twenty years in the XI Claudia, each and every one of the battles I’ve fought in, I’ve survived, and the poor sods that have faced me have died. D’you know why?’ Brutus asked. Pavo shook his head. Brutus took his training sword from his scabbard.

‘Because I know how to use this, and, more importantly, I know when to use it.’ Brutus looked Pavo up and down, and then pointed over to the training dummy with his sword. He picked up Pavo’s shield and approached the beleaguered effigy. ‘You’ve got brains, lad, more than most of this lot,’ he swiped his sword over the barrack buildings. Then his face wrinkled a little, ‘going by that stunt you pulled when you nicked my sword…well…it’s either brains or stupidity.’

Pavo felt his face flush.

‘But chucking yourself desperately at an opponent says a lot. It says you’re brave, maybe, but it tells your opponent you’ve run out of ideas. The barbarians of Germania and the tribes across the river — they all used to fight like that, and they’ve all been beaten…well it’s a different story now they’ve learnt!’ Brutus chuckled, stalking around the dummy, shimmying behind his shield. ‘Swinging your sword about like you’ve sunk a bath of ale shows an easy pick of kill points for me to exploit. I just need to bide my time,’ he grunted, ‘and while you’re all arms and legs, I can just strike decisively…once!’ Brutus suddenly appeared from behind the shield, jabbing up and into the dummy’s midriff. Sand spilled from the burst bag.

Brutus turned, grinning at Pavo. He always wore that trademark evil grin at the training sessions. ‘Also notice that you’re exhausted, and now imagine I’m the next ugly whoreson in an enemy army of thousands, all queuing up to gut you. You simply don’t have the energy left to resist me. On your guard!’

Pavo’s limbs roared in protest, but Brutus was poised and ready — no backing out. He sighed, got into a combat stance, and waited.

The two men began to circle each other. Brutus’ eyes bulged, fixed on him, anvil jaw set like a carving. Pavo locked onto a slight dip of Brutus’ right shoulder — he was going to hit his left. Instinctively, Pavo dived, swinging his training sword into what he expected to be Brutus’ unprotected left flank. Instead, Brutus pulled from the faint, easily parrying the wooden blade; Pavo found himself flapping in midair, with both his arms wide out to his side, his neck and chest completely exposed. Fast as lightning, Brutus brought his sword down onto the centre of his chest with little more than a gentle tap.

‘Kill,’ he calmly called as Pavo slapped onto the dust. ‘Not a drop of sweat on my brow either, you’ll notice?’ Pavo again sat up in the dust. ‘As well as by-the-book legionary tactics, you’ve got to be a bit dirty, too, eh?’ Brutus grinned. ‘Spurius and his monkeys will have you for breakfast every single time you fight if you present yourself like that.’

Pavo shuffled up to lean on his elbows at the mention of Spurius. So the sadist centurion did know what was going on.

‘I get it. Any chance of some more tuition?’ He croaked.

‘I’ve got other runts to batter into shape,’ Brutus said, ‘but I’ll teach you what I know. I can’t give you twenty years of legionary warfare experience though. That you’ll have to gain for yourself.’

Pavo pushed himself to his feet up again.

‘Where do we begin?’

‘You should begin by calling it a day. You’ve learned a good first lesson — don’t be a hero — play safe and if you can, be a dirty bugger.’ Brutus scratched his head for a moment, his eyes darting around the sand. ‘You know what I mean…er…a boot in the stones is worth two on the feet…’

‘Yes, sir,’ Pavo nodded. His skin prickled with pride and at the same time he had to suppress a laugh at the centurion’s clumsy metaphor.

‘And get back to cleaning the bogs — I want a pristine setup for my evening turd!’

‘Yes, sir,’ Pavo sighed, his shoulders sagging.

Brutus nodded briskly before marching off. Pavo hesitated for a moment before calling after him.

‘Thank you, sir.’

Brutus did not turn or respond.

Pavo strolled from the training yard in the dying light, the slightest hint of support from his centurion and it felt like there was an army behind him. As he approached the latrines, he heard Festus choking — probably cleaning out a particularly fetid latrine. He smiled. Perhaps the whole world wasn’t against him after all.