Read Online Cato 04 - The Eagle and the Wolves by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon Scarrow
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patted his stomach. A burp rumbled in his throat, causing Cato to look up with a frown.
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing, sir. Sorry.’
Macro sighed. ‘There’s that “sir” thing again. I thought you’d got over that.’
‘Creature of habit.’ Cato smiled weakly. ‘But I’ll work on it.’
‘You’d better.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you’ve been a bit drippy these last few days. If you’re going to help me train these Atrebatans so they can take on the enemy, you’re going to have to buck up your technique.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Trying’s not good enough, lad. Training men for war’s a serious business. You have to be hard on them from day one. You have to punish them hard for every single mistake they make. Be as cruel and nasty as you can, because if you don’t, then you place them at a disadvantage when they face the enemy for real.’ Macro stared at him to make sure the point had got through. Then he smiled. ‘Besides, you don’t want them calling you a pansy wanker behind your back, do you?’
‘Probably not.’
‘That’s the spirit. Decisive as ever. Now then, weapons drill starts tomorrow. You’re in charge. I’ve got to catch up on some paperwork. Being a bloody garrison commander’s a right pain in the arse. I’ve got to sort out accommodation and provisioning for Verica’s boys. I’ll have them issued with tents. They can set them up along the inside of the rampart. Then I have to make sure the inventory is bang up to date before we start issuing tunics and boots to the natives. Otherwise some bloody clerk on the imperial general staff’s going to bill me for any discrepancies. Bloody auditors.’
Cato’s eyes lit up as the obvious thought occurred to him. ‘Would you prefer me to deal with the inventory? You can do the sword drill.’
‘No! Damn it, Cato, you’re a centurion now, so act like one. Besides, you know some of the lingo. Tomorrow, you’re going to go out there and stick it to ‘em. You can pick some men to help you, but you’re on your own now, lad . . . Right, I’m off. You’d best get some rest yourself.’
‘Yes. Soon as I’ve finished.’
Alone at the table Cato stared at his food, appetite completely gone. Tomorrow he would go out in front of a thousand men and tell them how to fight with the short sword of the legions. A thousand men; some far older, some with far more experience of fighting and none of them likely to take kindly to being given their orders by a centurion of two months’ standing, who had only recently reached the legal age of manhood. He would feel like a fake, he knew it, and dreaded that most of the men on the parade ground would see through him in an instant.
Then there was the fact that the last three days had left him feeling drained. Two months of convalescence had weakened him dreadfully. His side ached abominably and Cato was beginning to doubt that any amount of exercise was going to make it comfortable.
Chapter Seven
Cato cleared his throat and turned towards the volunteers. One hundred of the Atrebatans stood silently in front of him, formed up, as they had been taught, along one side of the parade ground. In front of them stood the ten men from the garrison, selected for their skill at arms and chosen by Cato for training duties. Once this hundred had finished training for the morning they would split up and pass their learning on to the rest of the Atrebatan recruits. With only Tincommius to help with translation there was no other practical way to teach weapons skills. Cato turned to Tincommius.
‘Ready?’
Tincommius nodded, and prepared to translate.
‘Today, you will be introduced to the gladius, the short sword of the legions. There are some who claim this is our secret weapon. But a weapon is just a tool like any other. What distinguishes a tool from a weapon is the person wielding it. The short sword, in itself, is no more or less deadly than any other sword. Indeed, unless it is used properly
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing, sir. Sorry.’
Macro sighed. ‘There’s that “sir” thing again. I thought you’d got over that.’
‘Creature of habit.’ Cato smiled weakly. ‘But I’ll work on it.’
‘You’d better.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you’ve been a bit drippy these last few days. If you’re going to help me train these Atrebatans so they can take on the enemy, you’re going to have to buck up your technique.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Trying’s not good enough, lad. Training men for war’s a serious business. You have to be hard on them from day one. You have to punish them hard for every single mistake they make. Be as cruel and nasty as you can, because if you don’t, then you place them at a disadvantage when they face the enemy for real.’ Macro stared at him to make sure the point had got through. Then he smiled. ‘Besides, you don’t want them calling you a pansy wanker behind your back, do you?’
‘Probably not.’
‘That’s the spirit. Decisive as ever. Now then, weapons drill starts tomorrow. You’re in charge. I’ve got to catch up on some paperwork. Being a bloody garrison commander’s a right pain in the arse. I’ve got to sort out accommodation and provisioning for Verica’s boys. I’ll have them issued with tents. They can set them up along the inside of the rampart. Then I have to make sure the inventory is bang up to date before we start issuing tunics and boots to the natives. Otherwise some bloody clerk on the imperial general staff’s going to bill me for any discrepancies. Bloody auditors.’
Cato’s eyes lit up as the obvious thought occurred to him. ‘Would you prefer me to deal with the inventory? You can do the sword drill.’
‘No! Damn it, Cato, you’re a centurion now, so act like one. Besides, you know some of the lingo. Tomorrow, you’re going to go out there and stick it to ‘em. You can pick some men to help you, but you’re on your own now, lad . . . Right, I’m off. You’d best get some rest yourself.’
‘Yes. Soon as I’ve finished.’
Alone at the table Cato stared at his food, appetite completely gone. Tomorrow he would go out in front of a thousand men and tell them how to fight with the short sword of the legions. A thousand men; some far older, some with far more experience of fighting and none of them likely to take kindly to being given their orders by a centurion of two months’ standing, who had only recently reached the legal age of manhood. He would feel like a fake, he knew it, and dreaded that most of the men on the parade ground would see through him in an instant.
Then there was the fact that the last three days had left him feeling drained. Two months of convalescence had weakened him dreadfully. His side ached abominably and Cato was beginning to doubt that any amount of exercise was going to make it comfortable.
Chapter Seven
Cato cleared his throat and turned towards the volunteers. One hundred of the Atrebatans stood silently in front of him, formed up, as they had been taught, along one side of the parade ground. In front of them stood the ten men from the garrison, selected for their skill at arms and chosen by Cato for training duties. Once this hundred had finished training for the morning they would split up and pass their learning on to the rest of the Atrebatan recruits. With only Tincommius to help with translation there was no other practical way to teach weapons skills. Cato turned to Tincommius.
‘Ready?’
Tincommius nodded, and prepared to translate.
‘Today, you will be introduced to the gladius, the short sword of the legions. There are some who claim this is our secret weapon. But a weapon is just a tool like any other. What distinguishes a tool from a weapon is the person wielding it. The short sword, in itself, is no more or less deadly than any other sword. Indeed, unless it is used properly
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