Centurion by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online Page A

decided to make one last attempt to reason with the governor and leaned towards him as he spoke. ‘Sir, you cannot allow this man to escape the punishment he is due. You have to think about how it will be seen by the entire army. Unless you make it clear to the men what the consequences will be if they break regulations and carry knives off duty, then they’ll continue doing it, and with things the way they are this won’t be the last death on the streets of Antioch. Believe me, sir, it gives me no pleasure to ask for the man’s death, but you must consider how much damage will be done by sparing him.’
    Longinus frowned, then abruptly stood up and strode across the room to the balcony that overlooked the garden courtyard of the house. Beyond the tiled roof of the slave quarters that backed on to the garden he stared out across the city, over the walls to the long palisade that enclosed the army’s camp on rising ground a short distance beyond. A faint cloud of dust to one side of the camp indicated some activity: a patrol, or one of the units training on the expanse of ground that had been cleared and flattened for exercises and the occasional parade. He stared for a moment longer and then turned back to the two officers still seated in front of his desk.
    ‘Very well, I’ve made my decision.’
    Cato slowly made his way down the line of posts set to one side of the huge exercise ground.The infantry contingent of the Second Illyrian stood in lines in front of each post, every man armed with a wooden training sword with a heavy lead weight in the pommel, and another just ahead of the wide rim of the guard. In their left hands they clutched the handles of their wicker shields, also designed to be heavier than their battlefield equivalent. If a man could learn to wield such equipment with ease while training then he would fight with greater strength and confidence against an actual enemy. But for now, the auxiliaries just charged at their practice posts with a roar and set about them with a savage flurry of blows until Cato blew his whistle, and then each man would recover, and retire to the end of the line while the next man charged the post.
    They were going at it with a will, Cato noticed, and he could imagine that each one of them had mentally imposed Crispus over their stake. Be that as it may, they had been drilling for the best part of the morning under a hot sun without complaint. He decided to keep them at it until noon before sending them back to their tents to rest. The afternoon would be spent with the mounted contingent, practising attacks against the same stakes while riding at speed in and around them, an altogether trickier proposition for mounted men.Thanks to the relentless training Cato was confident that the Second Illyrian would give a good account of themselves when they marched to war against Parthia. He smiled to himself. He was already taking it for granted that there would be a war.
    The coming campaign was never far from his thoughts, and despite his confidence in his men Cato was anxious about fighting the Parthians. He realised well enough the difficulties the Roman soldiers would face in dealing with Parthian tactics. The enemy had developed their skills in mounted warfare over hundreds of years and now fielded one of the most formidable armies in the known world. Their method was simple, and unvarying. The first attack would be made by horse-archers who would pepper their foes with arrows, attempting to break their formation up, and then the small corps of heavily armoured cataphracts would charge home with their lances and shatter their opponents.The tactics had worked well against most of their enemies, and had resulted in the destruction of the army of Crassus several decades earlier. Now a new Roman army was preparing to face the might of the Parthians, and with not a little trepidation.
    ‘Sir!’ One of the optios assisting Cato with the training called out to him, and thrust his