Chapter 5 – Rome, 195 BCE – The Training Fields Below the Villa
"Yes, Father, you are going to love this," I said with uncontained excitement.
We left the forge behind and descended along a dirt path that wound down to the fields below the villa. The sun was beginning to climb higher now, casting a golden sheen over the hills and olive groves that stretched toward the Tiber. I could hear the faint sound of hooves and shouted commands long before we arrived.
Three veteran soldiers stood waiting near the paddock, each mounted on a sturdy horse. Their armor gleamed—their breastplates polished, new helms reflecting the light. But it wasn't their gear that caught Father's attention. It was their posture.
"These aren't aristocrats," he said, narrowing his eyes. "That one rode in Africa with me. He could barely stay on his mount during maneuvers."
"Exactly," I said. "And now watch."
At my signal, one of the riders kicked forward into a gallop. He lowered a training spear and thundered toward a target dummy at the far end of the field. The spear struck with a clean, decisive blow—center mass, splintering the wooden post and sending the dummy spinning to the ground. Another rider followed immediately behind, this one drawing a gladius mid-run. He slashed across a suspended sack of straw as he passed, the blade slicing it clean open without losing balance or speed.
Father said nothing for a long moment. He just watched them ride.
Eventually, he spoke. "They ride like they've been in the saddle since boyhood."
"They haven't," I said. "They've only been training for six months. Before the stirrups, a Roman had to spend years mastering his seat just to stay on during combat. You remember how many equites fell not from wounds, but from losing balance. If you weren't born on horseback, you were a liability."
"Now a man can brace himself. He can stand in the saddle to strike, absorb the shock of a blow, even fire a bow with both hands if needed. The stirrups give him stability, and that changes everything. It means we could build the greatest cavalry the world has ever seen, especially with the addition of our steel armour and weaponry."
Another rider turned his mount sharply and came to a controlled stop near us. He dismounted smoothly and saluted.
"General," he said to my father with a standard Roman salute. "The new gear has made all the difference. We have drilled with javelins, swords, even bows. We are quicker and more confident. It is incredible. The little general is making you proud." He said looking at me with reverence and respect.
Scipio gave a rare grin. "That he is. He will be conquering land for our Republic in no time."
The men laughed before returning to their exercises. I watched them for a moment, then gestured toward the horses' hooves.
"Father, the stirrups will make our cavalry stronger, but the horseshoes will make it sustainable."
He looked down. "I noticed the gait. Smooth, even after all that riding. What are these horse shoes you speak of?"
"Well, they are, by far, the most complicated piece of all this."
"More complicated than steel?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," I said, not joking. "Much more. Steel is about process and temperature. Horseshoes are about anatomy, timing, and restraint."
I crouched down beside one of the horses as Marcus approached with a hoof pick. "To shoe a horse properly, you need to know where to place the nails so they don't touch the sensitive inner hoof. Too deep, and you lame the animal. Too shallow, and the shoe falls off. And the shoe itself needs to match the hoof shape precisely, or it causes pain and missteps."
Marcus chimed in. "It's like forging armor for feet that grow, shift, and bear four times their own weight."
"We had to develop new tools just to trim hooves correctly," I added. "And convince farriers to train under Marcus. There's a technique to it—not just hammering metal onto a hoof."
Scipio watched as one of the horses trotted past with practiced ease, its legs landing evenly despite the hard-packed earth.
"And the benefit?"
"Horses last longer," I said. "They don't go lame after a few weeks on rocky roads. They recover faster, march further, and keep their speed. Without shoes, a cavalry campaign is limited by terrain. With them, you can press an advantage over weeks without losing half your mounts to stone bruises."
He absorbed it all in silence. Then he nodded once. "This alone might double the range of our cavalry. Maybe more."
"That's the idea," I said.
One of the veterans rode up again, this time with a lance. He steadied it under his arm and charged another dummy with a focused, forward-leaning posture. The dummy broke clean at the waist.
Marcus added, "We've already modified saddles to better support these changes. Higher back ridge. Better weight distribution."
Scipio crossed his arms, watching as the riders reformed and set off again in formation, wheeling together in a wide arc across the field.
"I want ten of these men ready to demonstrate in front of the Senate," he said. "And I want you to write a full report—logistics, cost, training time. I'll take it to the Curia once I've gauged support."
"I've already begun drafting it," I said with a smile. "And I'll personally oversee the next group of riders."
He glanced at me again, the faintest trace of pride in his eyes. "At this rate, they'll name a legion after you before you're old enough to serve in one."
"I'd simply prefer our Republic never suffer such a catastrophe like Cannae again," I said.
His gaze became somber at my words. After all, his father, my grandfather who was consul at the time, died from wounds incurred from that battle. In fact my mother also lost her father in that battle.
"Such a tragic loss of our soldiers must never happen again Lucius and your innovations are a step in that direction. Our soldiers will revere you for that."
I gave a small smirk and quipped, "Will they revere me as much as the great Africanus?"
Father let out a small chuckle and responded, "More so son. You are blessed by Minerva and Vulcan themselves and the soldiers will know it," while he put his hand on my head with as much outward affection as the great Scipio Africanus could muster.
As the riders looped past one more time, my attention came back to the cavalry, I couldn't help but smile. Cavalry had always been Rome's weakness.
Not anymore.