Breakfast the next morning was abuzz with servant gossip. I was quietly sitting in a corner eating, while everyone was discussing what could have caused the crying coming from the Duke’s bedroom that night. I caught the head butler giving me the side eye in a subtle manner, and mimed locking my lips and tossing away the key. Once he caught that, the tension in his shoulders dropped. I noticed that he seemed to time when I was leaving, meeting me just outside the door.
“Thank you for your discretion in this matter.”
“No problem. It wasn’t my news to be sharing, and the Duke is already doing a lot for me. I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize that.”
“Wise. May I ask your plans for the morning?”
“Sure. The Duke was wanting me to be present for some meeting with a few of the church higher ups, but besides that I was hoping to get a bit of training in. I was wondering if you could get me in time to get ready for the meeting?”
“Of course. The training yard is out back, though it isn’t quite as advanced as some others. We only have a pells area, a free circle, and a small track for running.”
“That’s fine with me, I need a good bit of running before I start. Do you know how long the track is?”
“Eight laps to a mile,” He said, pausing to think for a second. “You know, there are weighted loricas I could bring out if you wished to enhance your training. I’m unsure about the one you have.”
“Thanks.” I said, heading out to the yard as he disappeared. I went through a full body routine of stretches, and by the time I had finished Clarence had returned with a few options. I went with the middle weight set, and picked up the heaviest scutum I could. I had decided earlier on three miles at what I considered a forced march pace, before breaking off and immediately laying into the pells. I had just gotten into a groove when I was interrupted.
“WHAT IN HADES DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” A gruff voice bellowed, immediately causing me to flinch and miss my target. I turned to see a heavily muscled man in a battered lorica heading in my direction, rage across his face. He was clean shaven, and his coarse brown hair was cut short. His hands had scars crossing almost their entirety, and his brown eyes conveyed the rage he felt at whatever I was doing.
“Training, sir.” I answered in a meek voice.
“You call that training? Seriously? Tell me boy. In battle, do you expect your enemies to line up and wait for you to deliver a killing blow time after time, in the exact same manner as the one before them? If you answer anything but ‘no sir’ then I will beat the ever loving shit out of you right here and now, and make you my personal bitch for the next two weeks. So tell me, are they going to line up to die by your blade?”
“No sir.” I said with a bit more confidence.
“Good. You aren’t an idiot, just dumb. So let’s go over what you did and why, and I’ll tell you where you were going wrong and where we can start on improvements.”
“Right. Well, I started with what I hoped was a forced march pace for three miles before immediately falling into battle. I wanted to be prepared, as the enemy isn’t always going to give you time to fall into place and rest before battle. As for my strikes, I have only been taught the three basic stabs so far. I’m trying to get to the point where the stabs are automatic.”
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“Hmph. All in all, not a bad plan. You just lack the training, which is something we can fix. Give me one moment.” He said, walking over to the pells. He took the far left one and moved it much closer to the central one, so that they were almost touching. The one on the right also got moved closer, but there was a bit of room there. “Alright. Here’s the next set of stabs you need to work on. High, mid, and low lines, but your first set of strikes go across your shield to stab the left pell. The ones after that are to strike the right hand pell. Your enemies aren’t going to match up perfectly with you, so you need to be able to strike where they are. You also need to be able to aid your shieldmates, so we practice the stab to the right. At random points in your training, a red flag will pop up over the head of one of the pells. You have two seconds to strike the pell. Failure to do so will result in a punishment.”
“Yes sir.” I said, turning back to the pells and getting into a stance to strike with the new attacks.
“STOP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” He bellowed, and I looked at him only to see him staring at my legs. “LEGWORK BOY! LEGWORK! AT ALL TIMES YOU WILL STRIKE FROM A POSITION OF STRENGTH! THE ONLY POSITION OF STRENGTH IS WITH YOUR LEFT LEG PARTIALLY EXTENDED, SLIGHTLY BENT SO THAT YOU CAN FLEX UNDER INCOMING BLOWS!” He walked up and roughly corrected my stance with a wooden gladius, occasionally poking me with the tip when I drifted out of line.
That was how I spent the morning. Constant correction and verbal berating, especially when I nearly lost my scutum at an unexpected strike from the trainer, who I just now realized still hadn’t told me his name. That prompted a flurry of strikes that had me retreating slowly, and my thrusts at him were contemptuously batted aside and savagely countered with a backhanded strike from the blade. He stopped when I reached the back of the training area, glaring at me.
“You need to be ready to receive a blow on your shield at all times in battle. And not just from swords and other weapons. Enemies will grab the edge and attempt to pull you out of line. Or shove you back to make a hole. The strength of the legion is the shield wall, and if you can’t hold the line you will never be a legionnaire. Now, retreat in battle is inevitable. You weathered the blows well, though your attack was slow and unwieldy. You can’t always come to your line, pause to set yourself, and stab. It has to be a natural motion. Otherwise the enemy will be able to predict your moves.”
“Thanks, sir.” I said, panting as I wiped a bit of sweat away from my eyes. Though I hadn’t used any healing magic, I decided that now was a good time to do it. I got an odd look from him, as I was suddenly standing straighter, so I explained, “I have limited healing magics. I just used it for the first time today to wipe away some of my fatigue.”
That got a cruel smile from the trainer, “Oh, this is the best news I’ve heard in ages! A trainee that can wipe away his fatigue? Oh, I am going to have so much fun training you! Now, back to the pells! Shield up! I will call out a line, you will strike it without pause and move to the next one. Strike hard, strike fast. I will keep track. If you haven’t struck 50 killing or maiming blows at the end of 100, you will face punishment. GO! HIGH! LOW! HIGH! MID!”
He set a brutal pace, and I was hard pressed to keep up. The vast majority of my strikes struck glancing blows, and I knew I was going to be in trouble. That only caused me to miss more, and things didn’t improve with the addition of random strikes against my shield. By the end I was exhausted once again, but I had at least tried to hit each strike.
“Not bad. Thirty-three out of a hundred for kill strikes, but you didn’t give up. Your punishment is three and a half hours of practice tonight. For the first hour, you are to smoothly move between high, mid and low strikes. The second hour reverses this. The rest of the time will be spent on the new strikes. Questions?”
“No. Sir.” I panted, struggling to keep my scutum off the packed dirt floor.
“Good. Go ahead and refresh yourself, and I see Clarence coming to call us to a meeting. There’s a water barrel over in that corner to clean yourself with. I suggest just emptying it over your head for now. Towels are next to it.”
“Thanks sir.” I said, heading straight over. I carefully placed the used armor into the provided racks, somehow feeling that this too was a test and that the trainer was carefully watching me. Looking over my shoulder got a knowing nod, and a relieved breath from me. That trainer was intense, but ultimately forgiving of honest mistakes.