“With you, I have a thousand at my command to attack Mithridates. Some from this city and the villages are untrained. Others I have brought with me are used only to fighting at sea in Roman galleys. You were the land legions and you must be the backbone as we march. I will give each of you a sword brother from my men to train.”

He paused, but there was silence and he knew then that the veterans still remembered the old discipline. He wondered how many would last the miles before they even saw action. With young, fresh soldiers, he could cover the distance in less than three or four days, but with these? There was no way of knowing.

“I need one of you to be quartermaster, preparing packs, equipment, and food from what you can find within the city walls.”

Quertorus stepped forward, his eyes glinting with pleasure.

“Quertorus?” Julius said to him.

“Quartermaster, sir, with your permission. I've been wanting a chance to poke the eye of the council for a long time.”

“Very well, but their complaints will come to me and I will treat them seriously. Take three of my men and start readying the supplies. We need a shield for every man and any spears or bows you can find. I want a field kitchen outside the walls with a meal ready for all of them before dark. There's still light enough for drill and I want to see how well these men can move. They will be hungry when we're done.”

Quertorus saluted and marched smartly over to Gaditicus, who remained at attention where Julius had left him with the others. Julius watched as three were selected to go with him, and tried to ignore forebodings that he had just let the wolf loose amongst the geese. As they hurried away, Julius saw the city elder come rushing out of the council hall, making his way directly to the assembled veterans. Julius turned away from him without interest. Whatever the council had decided was no longer of importance.

“I've seen you can stand and I know from your scars that you can fight,” he shouted along the ranks. “Now I need to see if you can remember your formations.”

At his order, they turned and marched along the main street to the gate that led out of the small city. Those who had waited in the side roads filed in behind the others with precision, and Julius signaled Gaditicus to bring up the rear. The two men exchanged glances as they joined the column marching out, leaving the council elder calling behind them, his voice fading as he finally realized they would not listen to him any longer.

It took a while for the legionaries to form four equal lines, the veterans mixed with the younger men. Julius walked stiffly up and down the rows, judging the quality of the men who had gathered in his name. As he frowned at them, he fought to remember the lessons on field tactics and routines that Renius had drummed into him so many years ago. None of them had dealt with starting a legion from scratch, but some of it came easily to him as soon as he thought about the practical problems of having the large group move and respond to orders. The worry that would not leave him was that one of the veterans would realize he had never commanded infantry before. He deepened his frown. He would just have to bluff it through.

Beginning with the corner men, he set up a simple square, working through the figures in his head while they waited. He separated the others into thirty numbered rows, then directed the corner men to take their positions. When they were ready, Julius shouted the order, “Slow march to square formation!”

It was ragged, but the men moved with solemn concentration until they stood again in silence.

“Now look around you, gentlemen. I want a veteran next to a younger man wherever possible. We will mix speed with experience. Move!”

Once more, they changed position, the shuffle of feet eerie without accompanying chatter. Julius saw that his men were taking the lead from the veterans in manner and smiled slightly, even as he remembered Renius telling him that the man who led should be respected but cold. He must not smile. He could not be liked. They had loved Marius, but they had fought for him for years and Julius didn't have that kind of time.

“We have two cohorts of four hundred and eighty. Split at the fifteenth line and leave a row between you.” Once again they moved and a long avenue opened up in the dusty earth.

“The first cohort will be named Accipiter, the hawk. The other will be Ventulus, the breeze. Accipiter will be commanded by my second, Gaditicus; Ventulus, by myself. Say the names to yourselves. When you hear them in battle, I want you to react without thought.” He decided not to mention that one was a merchant ship and the other lay at the bottom of the sea. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Before we begin the formation drills, we must have a name.”

He paused, thinking desperately as his mind went blank. The veterans watched him impassively, perhaps guessing at his sudden lack of confidence. The right name would lift them as they charged, and Julius began to panic as nothing came to him, overwhelmed by the importance of getting it absolutely right the first time.

Come on! he urged himself. Speak the name and give them an identity. His eyes raked them, angry with his sudden indecision. They were Romans, young and old. He had it.

“You are the Wolves of Rome,” he said. His voice was quiet, yet it carried to the farthest of them. One or two of the veterans stood straighter as he spoke, and he knew he had chosen well.

“Now. Ventulus cohort form up in four maniples to my right. Accipiter break to the left. We have three hours before dark. Position drill until you drop.”

He could not resist clenching a fist in fierce satisfaction as they moved smoothly apart. He called Gaditicus from the ranks of Accipiter and returned his salute.

“I want you to run through every formation you know until dark. Don't give them a moment to think. I will do the same with mine. Change your unit commanders if they are obviously unfit or to reinforce your discipline, but with care. I want them working well by the time we eat.”

“Are you thinking of marching tomorrow?” Gaditicus asked, keeping his voice too low to carry to the men nearby.

Julius shook his head. “Tomorrow we will run battle games, yours against mine. I want the old ones to remember and the young ones to get used to following orders in the field, under pressure. See me tonight and we'll work out the details. Oh, and Gaditicus…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Work yours hard, because tomorrow Ventulus will take them to pieces and make you start again.”

“I look forward to seeing you try, sir,” Gaditicus retorted with a small smile, saluting once more before returning to his new command.

As Julius gave the order to march two days later, he felt a surge of pride, making his feet light on the foreign earth. His right eye was almost closed where one of Gaditicus's men had caught him with an axe handle, but he knew the pain would pass.

More than a few of both cohorts limped with the battering they had taken at each other's hands in the mock battles, but they had changed from strangers into Wolves, and Julius knew they would be hard to kill, harder still to break. They would cross the eighty miles of wood and plain and Mithridates would need a lot of his rebellious farmers to withstand what would be thrown at him, Julius was certain. He felt as if there was good wine in his stomach, making him want to laugh with excitement.

Alongside him, Gaditicus sensed his mood and chuckled, wincing as he cracked his swollen mouth once again.

“One thing about the galleys. You didn't have to carry this much metal and kit on your back,” he complained in an undertone.