Read Online Cato 04 - The Eagle and the Wolves by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Scarrow
Ads: Link
it is no match for a cavalry sword, or the long swords you Celts choose to bear. In single combat it lacks reach, but in the press of battle there is no finer weapon for a man to carry.’
Cato went for his own sword, and remembered just in time that he no longer wore it on the right, as he had done as an optio. With a smile he grasped the ivory handle and drew it out of its scabbard, raising it for all to see.
‘The weapon’s most obvious feature is the tapered point. It’s designed for delivering one type of blow in particular - the thrust. From this moment on there is one rule you must take to your hearts: a few inches of point is far more deadly than any length of edge. I’m happy to tell you this from personal experience. A few months ago someone was foolish enough to use an edged weapon on me. He’s dead and I’m still here.’
Cato paused to let the moral of the story sink in, and as he listened to Tincommius’ translation he remembered the druid’s attack in vivid detail, and the terrible pain as the scythe sliced into his ribs. Cato felt more of a fraud than ever. If only these fools knew how terrified he had been. He gritted his teeth at the precise recollection and tried to banish the thought. After all, the druid had gone to meet his dark gods, and Cato was alive. If the druid had thought to use a pointed weapon instead, things might have been different.
Tincommius had finished, and was waiting for Cato to continue.
‘It may not look very glamorous, but when you’re in tight formation, with your shield pressed into the body of your enemy, and his face inches away from your own, then you’ll know the true value of this weapon. Listen closely to your instructors, learn how to use the short sword as we do, and soon those bastards, the Durotrigans, will just be a nasty memory!’
A burst of cheering greeted the translation of the last remark, and Cato was wise enough to indulge it a while before raising his hands for silence.
‘Now, I know how keen you are to get started, but before you can be permitted to wield the real thing you must be trained in the basic movements, as we legionaries have been. In battle you must be confident of your ability to use your weapons with ease, and without tiring quickly. To that end you will begin your training with these . . .’
Cato stepped over to a cart and threw back its leather cover. Inside were bundles of staves, cut to the approximate length of a short sword, but thicker and heavier. Deliberately so. As with all training equipment used in the legions the aim was to develop strength as well as technique. If and when these men were equipped with the real thing they would delight in the comfort of its use at once. Cato picked up one of the short staves and raised it for the volunteers to get a clear view. A ragged groan of disappointment rippled through the ranks, as Cato had anticipated, and he smiled. He had once shared this sentiment.
‘It’s not much to look at, but I can assure you it still hurts to be on the wrong end of it! Now, stand still!’ He turned towards a small group of legionaries leaning against the corner of the nearest barrack block. ‘Figulus! Get your instructors over here!’
The legionaries trotted over and drew their training weapons, enough for five pairs of combatants each. Figulus, a huge man from Narbonensis, had been chosen by Cato to act as his optio.
‘Keep it basic for today,’ Cato reminded them. ‘Block, parry, thrust and advance for now.’
The legionaries set off for their assigned sections and distributed the weapons. As Figulus and other instructors introduced their trainees to the correct postures, Tincommius accompanied Cato as the centurion moved round each group and helped with translation where needed. The trainees were pushed into line and mimicked the actions of the legionaries as faithfully as they could. As with all training, the morning was punctuated with cries of anger and frustration from the
Cato went for his own sword, and remembered just in time that he no longer wore it on the right, as he had done as an optio. With a smile he grasped the ivory handle and drew it out of its scabbard, raising it for all to see.
‘The weapon’s most obvious feature is the tapered point. It’s designed for delivering one type of blow in particular - the thrust. From this moment on there is one rule you must take to your hearts: a few inches of point is far more deadly than any length of edge. I’m happy to tell you this from personal experience. A few months ago someone was foolish enough to use an edged weapon on me. He’s dead and I’m still here.’
Cato paused to let the moral of the story sink in, and as he listened to Tincommius’ translation he remembered the druid’s attack in vivid detail, and the terrible pain as the scythe sliced into his ribs. Cato felt more of a fraud than ever. If only these fools knew how terrified he had been. He gritted his teeth at the precise recollection and tried to banish the thought. After all, the druid had gone to meet his dark gods, and Cato was alive. If the druid had thought to use a pointed weapon instead, things might have been different.
Tincommius had finished, and was waiting for Cato to continue.
‘It may not look very glamorous, but when you’re in tight formation, with your shield pressed into the body of your enemy, and his face inches away from your own, then you’ll know the true value of this weapon. Listen closely to your instructors, learn how to use the short sword as we do, and soon those bastards, the Durotrigans, will just be a nasty memory!’
A burst of cheering greeted the translation of the last remark, and Cato was wise enough to indulge it a while before raising his hands for silence.
‘Now, I know how keen you are to get started, but before you can be permitted to wield the real thing you must be trained in the basic movements, as we legionaries have been. In battle you must be confident of your ability to use your weapons with ease, and without tiring quickly. To that end you will begin your training with these . . .’
Cato stepped over to a cart and threw back its leather cover. Inside were bundles of staves, cut to the approximate length of a short sword, but thicker and heavier. Deliberately so. As with all training equipment used in the legions the aim was to develop strength as well as technique. If and when these men were equipped with the real thing they would delight in the comfort of its use at once. Cato picked up one of the short staves and raised it for the volunteers to get a clear view. A ragged groan of disappointment rippled through the ranks, as Cato had anticipated, and he smiled. He had once shared this sentiment.
‘It’s not much to look at, but I can assure you it still hurts to be on the wrong end of it! Now, stand still!’ He turned towards a small group of legionaries leaning against the corner of the nearest barrack block. ‘Figulus! Get your instructors over here!’
The legionaries trotted over and drew their training weapons, enough for five pairs of combatants each. Figulus, a huge man from Narbonensis, had been chosen by Cato to act as his optio.
‘Keep it basic for today,’ Cato reminded them. ‘Block, parry, thrust and advance for now.’
The legionaries set off for their assigned sections and distributed the weapons. As Figulus and other instructors introduced their trainees to the correct postures, Tincommius accompanied Cato as the centurion moved round each group and helped with translation where needed. The trainees were pushed into line and mimicked the actions of the legionaries as faithfully as they could. As with all training, the morning was punctuated with cries of anger and frustration from the