Tiny was another matter. The big guy and I had never been separated for any long period of time. However, times change. We couldn’t take Tiny and Sarai for what were, to us, obvious reasons. They were waaay too large and we had no way of feeding them.
Unfortunately, Tiny didn’t share our view of things. He camped out in front of the villa exit and wouldn’t budge unless I did. When I went out on business, he stayed so close that he was practically crawling up my back. He’d also give me the darnedest pitiful looks he could manage. I had to learn to brace myself against those looks as best as I could.
Fat chance. Like all mutts Tiny was just too good in the pitiful department. This went on for several days virtually non-stop. The big lug would even squish himself against me as close as he could while we slept. I was nearly smothered twice.
Sarai did her best to distract Tiny with little success. She did manage to calm him down after a while, but she had to constantly redo her efforts as Tiny had a rather bad memory about such things.
Aside from Tiny’s antics, there was a lot of training to get done. My men had to learn to work together as a fighting force since they came from different units and backgrounds. We trained with a ferocious intensity that even made the elite Praetorians gulp with disbelief.
For example, our group didn’t play nicely at hand to hand combat. We fought as hard and as dirty as we could, and even I got dumped on my ass more than once. Sword play was treated the same way. We wore full combat gear and carried weighted wooden swords.
There were bruises to be had by all, and the doctors were kept very busy until we started functioning as a cohesive unit. Our new gear had been completed some time earlier, so our last training sessions were done in the armor and weapons we would be taking with us.
And so the day of departure loomed ever nearer.
The Roman View 
[…] Chapter VIII Published in: […]