Sharp words and swords
The clattering of swords on armour and shields against shields filled the air as two men did their best to push the other out of the sparring circle on the ground. Shield battering, sword slashing, always on sure footing, fighting as they would a mortal foe.
Or rather, Quintus Cingulatus Atellus, tribune of the Sixth Legion "Gradivius", was fighting his opponent as he would one of Meddix' own warriors. Lucius Proculus Mercator, primus pilum of that very same legion, had yet to show the same grim determination Atellus had seen before at Aequum Tuticum, Aeclanum and at the Tabelline Pass. The man seemed to enjoy bashing the younger man around.
Not that Atellus truly could tell with that stoic look Mercator had adopted for this match.
However, the tribune had an inkling from where that impression came from. It got clearer with every time the first sword battered Atellus' gladius out of his hand and rammed his shield into the tribune, effectively throwing Atellus out of the ring. Like he had just now.
"Up boy, this match is not yet over. And use your damned shield more often. There is a reason we Romans make them so big."
Yes, outside this particularly ring Mercator would never address him as "boy". The pure relish in Mercator's voice showed that he enjoyed it, even if the face would not reveal the same.
Any other day Atellus would have bristled at the words as he picked himself up. Ever slower with every time his back would touch the ground. Among the legionaries of the Sixth serving in his capacity as tribune he would have seen to Mercator's punishment himself.
However, this was sparring and Atellus had been the one who had wanted to test his mettle against the primus pilum. As accomplished as he was a fighter, there was yet so much to learn from this man who had made his way to the first century of the first cohort.
Still, his losses were certainly a cold rain on the fire that was the pride Atellus had felt swell inside him ever since he had joined the siege at Nola.
Thankfully Tercerus was not around to witness all his lessons fail to make a difference in this fight. That last thought made him chuckle.
"Last time you had laid me out, you had told me that I used the shield too often, that I exposed myself."
"And last time you had used your shield too often, just as you have used it now far too rarely," Mercator replied, carefully eyeing the young tribune as he crossed the line in the sand and entered the ring once more.
"Now pick your blade up, we'll fight one more time."
And the battering and clashing and slashing resumed once more, but this time slower than before. Atellus was not fool enough to think that the autumn sun or exhaustion had finally taken their toll on the older man and he doubted that he used his shield any better than before. Whatever the reason was, the fighting came to a halt as Mercator's eyes bored deeper into Atellus' than they had since the first sword had first met the green tribune Atellus had been.
"I did you a disservice."
"My aches tell me differently."
"You'll live, boy. No, I did you a disservice at Aeclanum. I would never have thought that sly words and promises would ever turn down Samnite swords and spears. Imagine the looks of Romans and Hirpini alike when news reached us of the Pentrii turning their backs on Gemino," Mercator said. Or spat in the case of the Samnite rebel's name.
"I imagine it must have been quite a shock to some."
Mercator drew closer as he chuckled.
"The Hirpini looked like the sky had just crashed down on them. They had been hoping that they could get more gold, more promises out of the legate. And then they heard that a Roman boy swayed an entire Samnite tribe with words alone."
"Sertorius was quite pleased with you, Atellus. He even sent out a rider to get a copy of your speech at Aquilonia. In his tent he said that he had been jesting when he said that next you would deliver him Samnium," Mercator said in good humour and his face relaxed just a bit.
"'Sword and hand' the Hirpini whisper among themselves and in Abellinum men of learning and peasants alike know of what you said. And what Rome promises. I am certain these words have spread through all of Samnium by now."
At that Mercator looked up to the sky, before settling his eyes on Atellus again.
" And I do not doubt that the tale of your work in Bovianum has reached Rome and your patron. I'm sure that Scaevola Pontifex must be pleased with himself."
And suddenly, a sharp pain struck Atellus' head as Mercator hit his helmet with his pommel. One shield bash later, Atellus laid in the sand once more.
"But wars are not just won with well placed words alone. Weapons and soldiers have to be kept sharp at all times. Up boy, we go another round."
So, I tried my hand at this, I can't promise anything good and it's not particularly long, but this had been stuck in my head for a while now. Tell me if there are glaring mistakes or if I could have done something better.
