Thunder of the Gods by Anthony Riches Page B

equipped look to their rear rather than engaging the enemy. We have regular competitions at all levels of the legion, from the centuries upwards.’
    ‘Perhaps your Tungrians would like to take part, Legatus?’
    Scaurus turned in his saddle to address Tribune Umbrius, resplendent as ever in his gleaming breastplate and impeccably polished boots.
    ‘Indeed, perhaps they would, Tribune. Although
we
tend more towards simple bare-knuckle fighting. Tell me First Spear, how often do your men exercise their legs in the country?’
    Quintinus looked back at him in bafflement.
    ‘I’m sorry, I ought to have been clearer. How often do they march any distance?’
    Quintinus took on a regretful expression.
    ‘We don’t march in winter, Legatus. Legatus Lateranus said there was no point, since we were committed to the defence of the city. He wasn’t much for anything that would take him away from Antioch.’
    The legion had paraded in its standard formation, the First Cohort at the right-hand end of the line with each succeeding cohort arrayed to its left. The soldiers appeared strong and well fed, and their equipment, while just as non-uniform as he had expected, with both mail and laminated armour in evidence, was well maintained to judge from the dull shine of oiled metal. Every man carried a shield protected by a leather cover in his left hand and a pair of practice javelins in his right, their swords having been replaced by heavy wooden practice weapons. Scaurus looked out across the open space, pursing his lips at the thinness of the ranks of men facing him.
    ‘How many men do you have available for duty today, First Spear?’
    Quintinus consulted a writing tablet.
    ‘Two thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two, Legatus.’
    ‘I see. And the other two thousand soldiers?’
    Another glance down at the tablet.
    ‘The majority of them are on leave in their hometowns and villages, Legatus. I took the opportunity of this period of relative quiet to send them away, as it was their turn.’
    ‘And the rest?’
    ‘Detached duty for the most part, although we do have a fair number hunting wild beasts.’
    ‘I see. So each of these centuries has fifty or so men on parade?’
    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