Aquila:The Roman Marine 1

"On your feet soldier." cracked the voice of the staff principalas as the iron gate behind which he stood slammed open. The disordant sound of the iron gate clashing against the granite blocks of the fortress that surrounded them was almost as bad as the voice of the petty Officer who summoned him. It looked as though it would be a very long day.

With the ease of long practice, the lean, rawboned legionary slid smoothly to his feet, and the sharp crack of his metal wrist plate against his breast plate armor in a military salute seemed to mollify, to some small extent, this large beefy guardian of the inner chambers that confronted him.

"Follow close behind me," the principalas said, scowling, "and keep silent!" Having issued this stern warning, the guide turned on his heel and plunged into the dark passageway behind him. Hastus took a last quick look at the grey leaden sky overhead, and clutching his dress helmet under one arm, and his sealed order cylinder in the other hand, he hurried after his guide.

Service in the legions had never been easy for Hastus Pius Scipius, but for that matter life had never been very easy anywhere. He was the son of a poor freedman, who eked out a bare existance in Ravenna as an assistant arms-maker. Hastus didn't have a lot of options at that time, and at eight years of age, Hastus was apprenticed to the Master arms-maker in whose shop his father worked. His mother had died at his birth and he strongly suspected that his father blamed him for her death. Soon after Hastus entered the arms shop his father sickened suddenly and died; most probably from the combination of excessive amounts of wine and a continuing and all-consuming grief over the loss of his wife.

The shop was a popular one with the local legion arms dealer, and as such the shop was one of many who attempted to fill the never ending demand of the legions for spear points, axe heads, and sword blades with which to further the imperial spread of the Roman culture. If the work was monotonous at least it was steady work, and as Hastus grew into this labor he grew stronger and bigger. The owner of the shop had a wife who was childless and she had been more than kind in caring for the boy when his father could not or would not. Both the owner and his wife were kind to the boy in their own way, and Hastus could never say that he had been beaten when he did not deserve it. His "foster" parents taught him to write his name and under thier guidance he learned to work with numbers, and found that he had an apptitude for that task. He finally ended up keeping the accounts of the arms shop. During the eight years that he worked in the shop, he learned a great deal about arms manufacture, and especially the forming and finishing of sword and axe blades. At the age of sixteen, his "foster' Parents were offered a partnership in an overseas colony that did not include him. His father wrote a letter of introduction for him and with the help of the local magistrates presented Hastus to the legionary recruiting praefect in Ravenna. Shortly following this Hastus found himself working in a legion armorer;s shop, doing for the legios what he had done for the former owner of the arms shop.

The loud echos from Hastus' iron shod boots against the dry stone floor brought the legionary back to the present. The two men had been hurrying down a long dark passageway whose gloom was relieved at infrequent intervals by flaring torches. The floor of the passage was dry, and the interior of this vast underground network was cool and dark. Small rooms set just off the passage within the massive walls showed the busy scribes and libraii busy at work over piles of ledgers and scrolls. This must be the admnistrative heart of the legion here at Landinum hastus thought, As he considered his surroundigs, his guide stopped abruptly in front of him.

"Wait here," said the petty officer again with a fierce scowl to punctuate the order. Hastus simply nodded his assent and leaned cautiously gainst the stone wall. It was cold and dry on his bare arm. His guide had moved around the crner of anoher doorway and Hastus could hear the boots crash as the guide snapped to attention. Hastus thought that the man resembled a minature thunder storm with his dark, forbidding scowls, and crashing salutes, but he knew better than to give voice to his observations. "A new man reporting Centurion; he awaits your pleasure sir." The guide was still standing stiffly at attention. Hastus could hear a faint reply but could not make out the words. His guide turned to him and motioned him forward. Hastus disliked overt and excessive displays of military courtesy, thinking them greatly overdone even on parade, but here, in the god's name, deep in the the bowels of a legion fortress------!!!!

However, service experience had taught him that conformance was the best path, particulrly when making a first impression. His guide's actions indicated that the unknown superior in the next room was dedicated to such trivialities, and the sealed orders that had brought him here from a disbanded legion would not make him the most popular replacement at this new command.

The last battle laurels of the old fourteenth Legion had been nearly twelve years old, so they disbanded the legion. His cohort, the "Ailing Eighth" as it was fondly called by the men, becaase the commanding centurion was usually sick was sent enmasse to the Danube Fleet, with the single exception of himself. He had been sent to the new fleet base at Landinium and was about to meet his new comanding oficer.

Hastus strode forward without further thought.