Adrastus.

Primus Pili Falco reads the charge.

The Legions were assembled to bear witness in their shining formations, as when a Roman soldier enrolled in service to the state, he swore a military oath known as the sacramentum, something every man within these walls had sworn. An inviolate, Gods witnessed oath, which every soldier had sworn to the Senate and the Republic in front of their peers, priests and their Gods. This holy oath-sworn sacramentum stated, that the soldier would dutifully fulfil his conditions of service on pain of punishment, up to and inclusive of death.

Discipline in this army was extremely rigorous by necessity and the great General had the power to summarily execute any one of these soldiers under his command. Tradition dictates that the punishments inflicted by a commander on one or more of his subordinates, be divided into punishments for military crimes, and the punishments reserved for ‘unmanly acts’, and although they are scratched into the waxed tablets of the scribes as reflecting this division, in reality there is little difference in the harsh nature of punishments for the most serious of crimes.  Although some minor indiscretions may only be given a ‘pecunaria multa’, a simple fine in the form of a deduction from the pay allowance, or ‘gradus deiectio’, a reduction in rank, or loss of advantages gained from length of service. For thoughtless errors, possibly a ‘militiae mutatio’ would be conferred, which meant instant relegation to inferior service or duties. For more serious misdemeanours however, a ‘castigatio’ was usually administered, which amounted to being walloped soundly by your Centurion with his heavy vine staff but graver misconduct, was punished with a brutal thrashing with a ‘flagella’, or short-whip by the same man, a punishment usually reserved for the ‘volones’, their euphemistically named slave-volunteers. For serious crimes, a ‘Fustuarium’, or a ‘Bastinado’ was the usual sentence and both these punishments were invariably grave and violent. Extremely damaging and often crippling if not fatal beatings were the norm, usually carried out by the rest of the condemned man’s Contubernium, with either stout staffs or rocks and a recipient who lived through it to be a cripple, could count himself extremely fortunate. Summary execution was also levied on those deemed worthy as every man here knew, as he had sworn to the same on his sacramentum.

Repeated, rising tones were then heard from the Buccinator’s curving horn and two gleaming Optio Principalii appeared with a naked prisoner between them from a Centurion’s tent situated on the south-western quarter of the camp, off the Via Sagularis, which was the inner perimeter pathway. This gravel road went all the way around the encampment and behind which lay the ranks of leather sleeping tents, set-out as they were in their groupings and between the narrow footpaths which divided them. This large leather tent of the Centurions had served as a temporary holding place for the prisoner and a venue for the Quaestionarius to ply his specialised training and techniques. The Quaestionarius of this camp was a dour and utterly merciless Senior Centurion of the 2^nd Cohort of the Tenth, who had served as interrogator of this man but torture hadn’t been required of this feared and experienced officer, as the empty amphora had been found under the accused soldier’s tented bedroll. The lowly Miles had admitted ownership handily enough, as he was faced with no real alternative but denied culpability and had sworn on Jupiter it had not been theft, as he’d only drank the dregs of a cast-off amphora he had found.

These two Senior Optios had each been nominated acting Tesserarii for today’s proceedings and these appointed Guard Commander’s vice-like grip held their prisoner firmly either side by his arms.  Adrastus’ hands were tightly bound in front of him with a leather thong and the Optios frog-marched him around the Via Sagularis, until they approached the ‘Via Praetoria’, the arrow-straight road which cut across the lower part of the large expanse of parade ground, known as the Praetorium. The trio turned right off the perimeter road and up the lower half of the Via Praetoria, the central road, which headed away from the main gate and marching up this broad sandy path between the parade grounds, they made their way toward the centre and the General’s accommodation.

No one wanted the appalling spectre of ‘Decimatio’ to rear its ugly head here, the dreaded punishment meted out for massed indiscipline or if no culprit was caught or stepped forward, as it then became a complete lottery. These days, the Cohort selected for punishment by Decimation was divided firstly into its Centuries as usual on parade but then further, to each Century’s individual Contubernii and each Optio would then draw lots to determine which ten-man group, would take the lottery of death, including their Decanus and their terrified servant. These ten chosen men who lived so closely together, would then draw their own lots from a clay jar and the soldier who pulled-out the black token, was fallen-upon immediately by his nine comrades, often with stones or clubs and invariably, until he had been battered to death. The remaining nine men were punished too, although in a more ritualistic form, as they were given rations of horse barley instead of wheat and forced to eat the animal fodder with bloodied hands. They were also made to sleep outside the fortress, near the Porta Decumana that night and were not permitted to wash the blood of their comrade off their hands until sunrise, when they were readmitted.

This ancient and terrifying punishment of Decimatio had been resurrected by General Marcus Licinius Crassus, seventeen years previously and from their ancient and bloody past. It was during the infamous Spartacus gladiator rebellion known as the Third Servile War, when two of Crassus’ Legions had disobeyed his direct orders, not to engage the rebel enemy. As a result of their rash, blood-rush attack, they had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of Spartacus’ skilled and accomplished rebels and Crassus' response to their disobedience had been swift and brutal, as expected. This sordid tale had been imparted to every new Probatio and Tirone standing here in this fortress, as a stark and salutary reminder to their sworn sacramentum and every man here knew the story intimately. The General had assembled the survivors of the two Legions before him that day and Crassus had then pulled out every 10^th man, as he walked across and in between the ranks. Each man who was pulled out was beaten to death by the other comrades around him.

The two disgraced Legions that historic day had been those of Consuls Gellius and Clodianus, who had long returned to Rome in reduced state, but they were both widely known as Pompey’s own Consuls and were effectively under the protection of his large and powerful political wing. Gellius possessed the cunning of a harbour rat and the hide of an elephant and had always been the consummate politician, rising again in those intervening years to his current position as Censor. The setback to Clodianus’ career was only temporary too, as with the support of Pompey and now the added patronage of the all-powerful, all-wealthy Crassus, both Gellius and Clodianus were appointed Censors and continued to enjoy the privileged lives of Rome’s leading citizens. 

Marcus Licinius Crassus was an unlikely ally of Pompey and a man who was now sixty years of age but immensely influential. He had grown to become the wealthiest man in all Rome and possessed so many properties in the city, many thought the Consul owned the Capitol itself. He currently shared power with Pompey again in Rome and these two powerful men whilst ever watchful of each other, together remained the political and financial powerhouse behind their General Julius Caesar. Four years ago, Pompey and Crassus were joined by Julius Caesar in what they had called their Triumvirate in those years, a period which saw the three of them cover the complete raft of Roman power and helm it so effectively, that they ruled virtually unopposed. Their Triumvirate operated to the benefit of each, as Pompey and Crassus would make Caesar Consul and Caesar would in-turn, use his Consular power to promote their claims. Caesar's consulship four years ago, secured land for Pompey’s veterans and a new wife for him, being Julia Caesar’s own daughter and although the fair Julia was Pompey’s fourth bride, he was said to be besotted with her.

The survivors of those insubordinate Legions of Gellius and Clodianus, had been joined together six years ago by their General Caesar in Hispania, into one newly levied Legio he named his 10^th Legion. His Legio X had since gained much notoriety throughout Hispania Ulterior and Gaul, becoming known familiarly as Caesar’s Legio X Equestris since their Gaulish exploits. His tenth legion had proved themselves utterly loyal to him and steadfast in battle but a shadow hung over the General’s favoured Legion today and their honour was thrown under close scrutiny. 

The soldiers of Legio X were arrayed in their finery in the rising warmth of this morning, standing to 'intente' in the western half of this fortress, and the soldiers of Legio VII faced them in the sandy dust across the Praetorium from the east. Two 2^nd File Centurions of the Tenth then stepped from their tents and marched toward the spot on the parade ground, to where the prisoner was being marched by their two Senior Optios. This doomed man was well-known to all as one Adrastus, the simple Miles Gregarius who so loved his red wine. His abiding love of the fermented juice of the grape may have cost him his life this day but if he was innocent of the theft, it was his reputation for the worship of Baccus which had drawn the shadow of accusation over him, like the black mantle of death itself.

His face spoke volumes of his fear and shame between the two granite faces of these Optios and he wasn’t alone in expecting a flogging or a bloody fustuarium this morning, but his nakedness had been a surprise. All he could do was pray to his Gods, and put his worldly faith in his comrades to spare his miserable life and leave him battered but breathing still, as after all it was only a mouthful of discarded wine he claimed to have supped. All the arrayed ranks of soldiers were thankful for the appearance of the condemned Adrastus, relieved at the confirmation of their release from the dreaded lottery of death but their eyes were hard, as all knew the possible consequences of theft in this army. The senior soldiers in this assembly knew better, they knew from bitter experience that the crime of theft especially from such an officer, was filed alongside the crime of treason and the punishments were invariably the same and always fatal.

“You’d think the cretin would know better, coming from the tenth.” Didacus’ cultured and scornful voice carried backwards to Agapitus standing behind the rows of soldiers and it caused a few chuckles and derisive snorts among the ranks of the 3^rd Cohort, Legio VII. The Optio’s face darkened ominously at this bold restlessness.

“One more word from you Didacus, you big-mouthed cunnus and you will be joining Adrastus in that big hessian bag!” Agapitus snarled quietly and it must have had the desired effect, as the ranks ahead of him were suddenly as silent as the cool confines of a marble temple. The centrepiece and the ‘hessian bag’ to where Adrastus was being marched, was dominated by the big stone watering trough they used for their horses, which they had rudely requisitioned from the nearby village, where it had been used for many generations for watering their own animals, as it had been fed by a tiny spring held sacred by the local barbarians. These acquisitive Romans had torn this long and heavy, rectangular stone bath from its ancient foundations when they had first stormed through this coastal territory last summer. They had transported it on a cart, up to their newly outlined fortress and had installed it under another spring they’d discovered, just outside the planned eastern gate of the fort, for precisely the same purpose. 

This ancient stone trough had been crudely carved on its outer faces but these swirling patterns were worn to almost non-existence by its great age. The Romans knew-not that they had interfered with the natural balance of two local water-spirits and cared-less when informed, denying all entreaties for its return by the priests of the village. Its presence in the centre of the parade ground seemed a mystery to many of the onlookers today, especially the recruits and the handful of local Tirones but the veterans knew its purpose, as there was no river close enough for the procedure they knew was about to take place. 

Strong Macedonian men had man-handled, rolled and levered this heavy stone sarcophagus into position and its sides were over three feet tall and the big trough was now brimmed full with cold carried water. The multitude of soggy, dimpled footprints around it and heading east attested to the labour it took the Auxiliaries with leather buckets, to and from the spring to fill it but this was merely an irritation to the Primus Pilus, the Senior Centurion of the 1^st Cohort of Legio X and the officer who had ordered it done. This Prime Centurion was the champion and commander of the first and Prime Cohort of the Tenth Legion and he made his glorious appearance then, through the entrance to Caesar’s reception pavilion and he was joined in the bright morning sunshine by the equally resplendent Primus Pilus of the 7^th. These two indomitable warriors stood guard, as a pair of slaves pulled back the two great flaps of this tent behind them and tied them back neatly, there revealing the great General in his stout campaign chair and dressed in his favourite toga and breastplate, flanked by his pair of enormous hounds.

Behind and around the General were arrayed his General Staff on sumptuous couches, among which reclined Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, Legate and Commander of Legio VII on Caesar’s left hand and behind him stood his subordinate, today’s complainant Gnaeus Domitus Calvinus, the Senior Tribune and 2^nd in Command of the 7^th.  To Caesar’s right hand reposed Legate Titus Labienus, Senior Tribune and Commander of Legio X and Second in Command of the whole invasion force. This tall Patrician officer was subordinate only to his old friend General Caesar and behind this legendary Roman Officer, known as the scourge of the Atrebates and the Treviri tribes of Gaul, stood the Tenth’s Quaestor; Quintus Cassius Longinus who would command the cavalry fleet. This muscular man of great repute stood incongruous beside the taller and slender figure of one Lucius Pinarius Scarpus, a Junior Tribune who had little experience and bore the embarrassed expression of a man who knows he looks out of place. In spite of the title, he also seemed a little short in years to hold the position. The Legion’s gossipers believed the presence of young Pinarius on the General’s staff was due to his family connections, as he was a great nephew of the General himself through one of his sisters. It appears his esteemed great uncle was determined that young Pinarius would receive the experience he needed so much and under the General’s own protective eye, as it was a very old and immutable truth that youth can never match experience in the Roman army. There was too another person in this extended group of aristocrats, standing behind the General and to his right alongside the immature Pinarius. This man looked completely different to all around him and seemed to exude a natural authority and a bold fearlessness. 

Although this unfamiliar man wore the clothes of a Roman, he was tall and regal with dark but greying hair, worn in a long plait down his back. His big craggy face of character, bore the bristling and drooping moustaches of the long-haired Gaul and a stunning gold Torc glinted around his neck, confirming both his ethnicity and status. This was the infamous King Commios of the Prittanic Atrebates, whom Caesar had made King over the nearby conquered sister tribe of the same name. His rule had recently been allowed to spread over the Môrini tribe and these lands they now occupied to much complaint and his presence here was superficial at best, but Caesar had plans for him before he landed on Prittania’s shores, as the King would end his exile and return to his tribe in his service. 

King Commios had been conversing with his ‘Atrebates over the channel’ for many months on Caesar’s behalf and the General had invested a small part of his longer-term hopes in this Belgic King, in that he will have a great and desirable influence on his related Prittanic Tribe before he lands. He is also hoped to have a persuasive influence on the other Belgic tribes of Southern Prittania once they consolidate their position after landing, a number of which had secretly allied to his banner already and were busy with their own preparations for the invasion. 

The General seemed relaxed and almost disinterested at this bright morning’s proceedings, as he laid a calm hand on the big black head of each of his huge and beloved Germanic boar-hounds Negris Primo and Negris Alto, but he sat up nonetheless when the guilty party was marched up the Praetorium to face him and his own doom.

The Primus Pilii of the two assembled legions took up position in front of each of these large, triangular flaps of Caesar’s tent and stood smartly to ‘intente’ there, their transverse helmet crests bristling in the morning sunshine, which glanced off these fabulous helmets and their metal greaves, their polished breastplates and the phalerae hung around their necks. These round metal discs worn with great pride were always gleaming, as they were awarded for courage and the envy of their men. Each impressive Primus Pili bore a magnificent Gladius with a white contoured grip, which unlike the legionaries' blades were worn on their left hips, as was required by all Roman officers. Both wore a coveted gold torc on their left wrists and were known to each have a bagful of similar trophies and awards tucked away. These two indomitable men were the pride of both legions and their attitude and demeanour acknowledged this with a fierce pride, as their positions were incredibly hard-won and invariably short-lived.

The powerful looking Falcus, the Primus Pili of Legio VII took several measured paces forward, as he had been appointed acting ‘Praefectus Castrorum’ for today’s proceedings and Falcus was considered Camp Prefect - ‘Ad Spem Ordinis’, as it was a post he was in-line for on a more permanent basis. This extremely experienced veteran of so many battles looked magnificent in his immaculately polished armour and the many decorations he had been awarded in his long service, from bronze armillae around his forearms, to the gleaming phalerae and bronze Roman torc which burdened his neck and the smaller, solid gold version on his wrist. These overt symbols of his fearsome abilities almost outnumbered the scars that marred his brutal face, which all spoke of those same battles as he marched forward with a fine and thoughtless form. All this bespoke the man’s undeniable prowess in the ancient art of warfare and were vivid proof if any were required, of Falcus’ innate ability to survive the same. This grisly acting Camp Prefect was the conductor of this early morning’s ceremony and his terrifying visage broke into a hateful sneer, as the prisoner was brought forward. Falcus' cold, hard eyes surveyed Adrastus as if he was a louse he’d found in his bedroll as the two Optios dragged him forward. 

When Adrastus was finally able to tear his awe-struck eyes from the great General and his august and noble attendants in the open pavilion, he caught sight of Falcus’ face and the overt hatred blazing at him, and he paled at the sight. Falcus then turned on his heel in insult and to face Caesar’s pavilion. Standing smartly to intente then, he gave the General a crisp salute.

The two Optio Pricipalii brought Adrastus up toward the place of punishment then and he frowned at the sight of this long stone horse-trough before him, wondering at its relevance. Then his eyes fell on a long but shallow timber box, which lay on the ground nearby with panels of fine mesh let into the woodwork and a large hessian sack, which had been draped casually over this box. His heart lurched painfully in his chest then, as these innocuous looking items colluded to paint a vivid picture of what horror awaited him. It dawned on Adrastus then, like a prophetic, cold and terrifying deluge of freezing water, the form and manner of his chosen punishment. In that flash of unbearable insight, Adrastus realised with an electrifying shock that this was far beyond any beating and he now faced his own stark demise in the face. 

Adrastus was suddenly galvanised into frantic movement and began to wail in terror, his feet trying without thought to propel him backwards and away from this unjust and inconceivable judgement. The grip of the Optios was unshakeable however and all his feet managed to achieve, were two small clouds of dust and alternate drag-marks on the ground behind him, as he was dragged inexorably forward to his doom.

Caesar and his military staff relaxed and picked their choice from the plump bunches of freshly picked local grapes and berries, laid-out within reach in deep silver dishes, as a number of slaves were in nervous and lively attendance. A superb Caecuban wine brought from Rome was enjoyed from charming and delicate glassware and all looked-on, with the jaded and hard eyes of the merciless Roman noble. The two Centurions detailed to carry-out the punishment who had taken their places earlier, turned then as the pair of muscular Tesserarii dragged Adrastus before the sight of Caesar.

The General made an almost imperceptible nod to Falcus, who saluted in response and about-turned once more to face the condemned man. The Centurion gave a brief signal to his two tough looking officers, tasked to carry out the punishment and they turned and nodded in-turn, to their two Senior Optios. These powerful men re-affirmed their grip on the struggling and gibbering Adrastus who seemed to have lost his wits, as his fate became clear and immediate and he raved broken, panic-stricken sentences. Saliva flew from his wild lips and without thought, his feet still thrummed the ground in a pointless rhythm of protest. The two seasoned soldiers didn’t even blink when the dancing Adrastus’ hot urine splashed their bare legs and they held him firm without expression, as the Centurions bent to prepare the items on the trampled earth around the trough. One opened the big hessian bag on the ground and the other carefully slid one end of the wide and long wooden box into its gaping mouth. He then seemed to pull some kind of catch on the bagged end of this box and upended it carefully, shaking out the contents into this strong sack, as his partner held it open.

Adrastus needed no sight of the slithering contents to know they were living, venomous things of nightmare and he was certain now exactly what awaited him in this bag, as the belly of it moved menacingly. Another savage scream erupted from Adrastus in his hysteria, kicking his feet frantically now as the two big Centurions moved-in and grabbed his wiry and piss-streaked, flailing legs. They lashed his feet together in an instant and between the four strong men, they managed to manipulate the naked and screaming Adrastus into this bag and the Centurions quickly lifted it, sealing his fate. One quickly lashed the gathered neck tightly closed with a length of strong leather and the sack now burst into life, as Adrastus was introduced to his fate and he thrashed around inside it, howling and screaming terribly.

The two Optios lifted this living, thrashing bag onto the edge of the huge water trough and let the screaming, squirming bundle fall into the cold water, which slopped over the rim with a splash. The moving bag sank immediately below the surface, until the trapped air inside it lent it buoyancy and caused it bob-up again and the screeching became loud once more. As the water began to seep into this dusty bag, the thrashing became even wilder along with the piteous screaming and the water slopped wildly over the stone sides, as Adrastus was savaged by the dozen or so frantic snakes he now shared his bag of execution with.  

As bubbles streamed from countless places in the hessian, the two Centurions used long poles to push the writhing and hideously bucking bag under the surface again. Although the harrowing screaming of Adrastus was muted by the water, everyone watching could tell that the struggle was still ongoing and terrible, as the violent kicking and struggling was transmitted up these two poles, which jumped and bucked as the Centurions lent their weight to them. It took several more minutes before the commotion in the water trough began to lessen and the wooden poles stopped their jumping, to become calm and a few minutes longer, before the large leather flaps of Caesar’s tent were dropped back into place.

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