The senior centurion of the cohort came rushing up to me, dressed in nothing  but  his  undershirt.  A  handful  of  legionaries  with  lances  and shields hastily assembled into something akin to a line in the courtyard, disturbed by the alarm signal. Perhaps my youth will excuse the fact that I barked orders at them I still had no right to give, as I had not even reported to Rubrius yet. After making them march at the double to the wall and back and stand in a perfect line, I asked the centurion to take over. He stood astride before me in astonishment, stubble on his chin and his hands on his hips.

“Commantler Rubrius is asleep after a strenuous night exercise,” he said. “The men are tired for the same reason. How would it be if you came with me and had a drop of wine and told me who you are, where you come from and why you’ve landed here like the God of War himself, scowling and grinding his teeth!”

From his face and scarred thighs, I could see he was an old veteran and I could do nothing but agree to his request. A young knight could easily be snubbed by a centurion like him and I did not want to disgrace myself further by being made a fool of in front of the increasing number of soldiers gathering around.

The centurion took me to his room, which smelled of leather and metal polish, and began to pour wine from a jar for me. I told him that owing to a promise I could take nothing but water and vegetables, and he looked at me in surprise.

“Corinth is not considered a place of exile,” he remarked. “You must be of a very noble family indeed if your presence here is some kind of punishment for what you’ve done in Rome.”

He scratched his chin uninhibitedly, making a rasping sound on the stubble, yawned hugely and drank some wine. Nevertheless, on my orders he fetched Commantler Rubrius’ clerk and the cohort rolls.

“In the city itself,” he explained, “we only have guards at the Proconsul’s courtyard and at the main gates. Both in Cenchreae and Lycaea—the ports, you know—we’ve permanent garrisons. They have their own quarters so the men don’t have to keep going to and fro between the barracks and the ports. According to the rolls, we’re a full cohort, excluding the engineers, clothmakers and other specialists, so if necessary we can be a self-sufficient field corps.”

I asked about the cavalry.

 

 

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“In fact we’ve not a single cavalryman here at the moment,” he said. “Naturally there are a few horses at the disposal of the Commantler and the Governor, but both of them prefer to use a litter. You can have one of them if you can’t manage without a horse. Corinth’s own cavalry is, of course, bound to assist us on command.”

When I asked about maintenance of weapons and equipment, orders for the day and the exercise program, he looked at me curiously.

“Perhaps you’d better ask Rubrius about that,” he said. “I’m only his subordinate.”

To pass the time, I inspected the empty quarters, with their dust and cobwebs, the weapon store, the kitchen and the altar. The garrison had no Eagle of its own, only the customary cohort field insignia with tassels and memorial plates. After my round of inspection I was both confused and appalled.

“In the name of Hercules,” I cried, “where are the men? What would happen if we had to leave suddenly to fight?”

The centurion had grown tired of me.

“You’d better ask Commantler Rubrius that too,” he said angrily.

At midday, Rubrius at last sent for jne. His room was beautifully furnished in the Greek way and I saw at least three different young women serving him. He himself was bald, his face fat and the veins in it broken, his lips blue and he dragged his left foot as^ he walked. He received me warmly, breathed wine on me as he embraced me and at once told me to sit down and make myself at home without formality.

“Coming from Rome, you must be surprised to find how lazy we are here in Corinth,” he said. “Of course, it’s quite right that a brisk young knight should come and get things going here. Well, well, so you’ve the rank of tribune, have you? From Britain, I see. That’s a distinction, not a command.”

I asked him about service instructions and for a while he did not answer.

“In Corinth,” he said finally, “we don’t need to keep ourselves in a state of readiness. On the contrary, the city council and the inhabitants would be insulted if we did. Most of the legionaries here are married. They have my permission to live with their families and practice a craft or a trade. Now and again on Roman feast days, we muster them, of course. But only inside our walls so as not to attract unnecessary attention.”

I ventured to point out that the soldiers I had seen were apathetic and ill-disciplined, that the equipment store was thick with dust and the quarters filthy.

 

 

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