Recruit camp, Cisalpine Gaul — Week 8
The day began like any other: cold, overcast, and without promises. But something in the air felt different. Optio Varro wasn't barking orders. He moved among the ranks, murmuring to instructors. His eyes lingered on a few recruits.But mostly, they stayed on one.
Sextus.
After the exercises at the pali, Varro raised his voice:
"Contubernium Four, center."
The four of them stepped forward in formation. Marcus trembled slightly. Gaius looked serious. Titus muttered under his breath.
"Not you," Varro said, pointing to Sextus."You. With me."
His companions stared, but said nothing. Sextus followed the optio without a word.
They crossed the parade ground toward an area where veterans trained. Two men stood waiting, armed with rudis and shield. They weren't recruits. They were soldiers—hard, stone-faced. Instructors, most likely. Off to the side, like a shadow beneath the eagle standard, stood Scaeva, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Varro leaned in to Sextus and spoke quietly:
"This isn't punishment. But it could end like one.Do what you do. And better still—don't think about it."
Sextus nodded.
"One or both?"
"Both. At once."
The training ground was marked with stones. The audience was small, but focused. A few recruits, several optios, and above all, the centurion.
"Begin when ready," Varro said.
Sextus took a deep breath, drew his rudis, and raised his shield.
The veterans moved in, slowly, surrounding him. One attacked first: a lateral cut to test his reflexes. Sextus blocked easily, turned his body—but didn't counter. He waited.
The second came from behind with a shield slam. Sextus dropped to one knee, rolled, and sprang back up, panting.
This was no drill.
They changed tactics. Simultaneous attacks. One high, one low. Sextus spun, used the shield to deflect, and struck one in the side. A touch. Not hard—but clear.
The second charged. Sextus barely saw it coming. Took the hit on his shoulder and went down. Pain flared through his arm, but he didn't drop the weapon.
He rose. Breathed. Waited.
This time, he didn't dodge. He advanced.
It was as if something had ignited inside him. Block, pivot, counter. The first veteran fell. The second retreated. Sextus pressed in, struck, rolled, and stood again.
In the end, both veterans stepped back. One had a mark on his thigh, the other on his wrist. Nothing serious. But both knew they had been hit.
Varro raised his hand.
"Enough!"
Sextus lowered his weapon. He was panting. Blood dried on his brow, dirt in his mouth. But he remained standing.
Scaeva didn't move. Didn't applaud. Didn't speak.
He simply nodded.
Then he turned and walked away.
Varro approached Sextus.
"He didn't praise you. That's as close to 'well done' as you'll ever get."
Sextus nodded, unsure whether to smile or vomit.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now," Varro replied,"they'll start expecting more from you.Because now they know what you can give."