thought possible if I had not heard it. “I’m no Excellency! You’ll address me by my proper title.”
Suddenly, his voice dropped back to normal, and he continued talking, as if there was nothing untoward taking place an instant before.
“On your feet boy. And look straight ahead, you got that?”
I pulled myself to my feet, a little unsteadily, but before I could answer, he continued.
“Of course, none of you know what my proper title or my name is, because you haven’t been taught such things. So we’ll begin with that. My name is Lucius Favonius, and I’m the Primus Pilus of the Tenth Legion. I know that the title means nothing to you now, but you’ll learn what it means in time. Right now, all you need to know is that as far as you’re concerned, I and anyone who wears this,” he pointed to his helmet, “are to be considered on the same level as the gods you worship, because like the gods, we exercise the power of life and death over each of you.”
I gulped; this was not going exactly as I had seen it in my mind’s eye, and I wondered how Vibius was taking this. My gut was still throbbing, and my head still ringing, so it was hard to pay attention, but I knew that what I was being told was important.
“I’ll escort you to the Praetorium ,” he turned and pointed at a huge tent, dead in the middle of the camp, several hundred feet away.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned to stride away, with all of us following quickly behind him. When we drew close, he stopped us several paces away from the entrance. Standing in front of it were two Legionaries, obviously on guard duty, and similarly to the Praetor’s residence, the area around the tent was a bustle of activity as soldiers and civilians came and went into it. As I was to learn, anywhere our commanding general, the Praetor Julius Caesar, was located, it was always like a beehive.
“You’ll hand in those tokens, and you’ll then return to that spot outside the Praetorium , where you’ll get into the exact same line you’re in now, facing the tent, and you’ll wait for me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Primus Pilus,” I answered quickly, before anyone else had a chance to answer, catching him a bit by surprise.
He looked at me for a moment before giving a harsh chuckle.
“Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look, boy.”
You have no idea, I thought grimly, but I am going to take your job, old man.
Turning in our tokens to a clerk, we gave our name, which was matched up to the documents that were created as part of our records and sent from the Praetor’s residence the day before. On turning in our tokens, we were informed that we were now no longer probatios , but had achieved the lofty status of tirones , or tiros as we were more commonly called, when of course we were not called all manner of other names. None of us had any idea what the distinction was, or why it mattered, although we would learn, and the difference was actually quite important. As probatios , while subject to some of the rules and regulations governing the army, it was not the complete set, so that if we ran afoul of one of those rules during our brief time in that status, the range of our punishment was limited. The status of probatio usually lasted longer because normally the conquistores were out in the countryside and would march groups of new recruits to the training camp, but it was not necessary in our case. However, as tirones , we were now under the full authority of the Roman Legion, meaning that we could be flogged, or worse, executed for a breach of the rules, if deemed serious enough. We were then presented with another document that we were told to sign, something I found impossible to read because it seemed to be in some sort of language that I did not understand. I would come to master it and read it as easily as I read any document written in the normal fashion, but it would take some time.
Suddenly, his voice dropped back to normal, and he continued talking, as if there was nothing untoward taking place an instant before.
“On your feet boy. And look straight ahead, you got that?”
I pulled myself to my feet, a little unsteadily, but before I could answer, he continued.
“Of course, none of you know what my proper title or my name is, because you haven’t been taught such things. So we’ll begin with that. My name is Lucius Favonius, and I’m the Primus Pilus of the Tenth Legion. I know that the title means nothing to you now, but you’ll learn what it means in time. Right now, all you need to know is that as far as you’re concerned, I and anyone who wears this,” he pointed to his helmet, “are to be considered on the same level as the gods you worship, because like the gods, we exercise the power of life and death over each of you.”
I gulped; this was not going exactly as I had seen it in my mind’s eye, and I wondered how Vibius was taking this. My gut was still throbbing, and my head still ringing, so it was hard to pay attention, but I knew that what I was being told was important.
“I’ll escort you to the Praetorium ,” he turned and pointed at a huge tent, dead in the middle of the camp, several hundred feet away.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned to stride away, with all of us following quickly behind him. When we drew close, he stopped us several paces away from the entrance. Standing in front of it were two Legionaries, obviously on guard duty, and similarly to the Praetor’s residence, the area around the tent was a bustle of activity as soldiers and civilians came and went into it. As I was to learn, anywhere our commanding general, the Praetor Julius Caesar, was located, it was always like a beehive.
“You’ll hand in those tokens, and you’ll then return to that spot outside the Praetorium , where you’ll get into the exact same line you’re in now, facing the tent, and you’ll wait for me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Primus Pilus,” I answered quickly, before anyone else had a chance to answer, catching him a bit by surprise.
He looked at me for a moment before giving a harsh chuckle.
“Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look, boy.”
You have no idea, I thought grimly, but I am going to take your job, old man.
Turning in our tokens to a clerk, we gave our name, which was matched up to the documents that were created as part of our records and sent from the Praetor’s residence the day before. On turning in our tokens, we were informed that we were now no longer probatios , but had achieved the lofty status of tirones , or tiros as we were more commonly called, when of course we were not called all manner of other names. None of us had any idea what the distinction was, or why it mattered, although we would learn, and the difference was actually quite important. As probatios , while subject to some of the rules and regulations governing the army, it was not the complete set, so that if we ran afoul of one of those rules during our brief time in that status, the range of our punishment was limited. The status of probatio usually lasted longer because normally the conquistores were out in the countryside and would march groups of new recruits to the training camp, but it was not necessary in our case. However, as tirones , we were now under the full authority of the Roman Legion, meaning that we could be flogged, or worse, executed for a breach of the rules, if deemed serious enough. We were then presented with another document that we were told to sign, something I found impossible to read because it seemed to be in some sort of language that I did not understand. I would come to master it and read it as easily as I read any document written in the normal fashion, but it would take some time.
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