Book 2, Chapter 16

37 “Now consider military service—ours, I mean, not the Spartans’, whose battle line advances to a measured beat and a flute, and who never receive an exhortation without an anapestic rhythm. First, you can see where our armies get their name, exercitus: from exercise. Then think of the toil, the immense toil of marching: carrying more than half a month’s provisions, carrying anything they want for their use, carrying a stake for the palisade. Our soldiers no more count shield, sword, and helmet as baggage than they count their shoulders, arms, and hands. Weapons, they say, are a soldier’s limbs. They carry them so conveniently that, when necessary, they can drop their packs and fight with their weapons as freely as with their limbs. And the legions’ training? What labor goes into that running, charging, shouting! This produces the spirit ready for wounds in battle. Bring up an untrained soldier with equal spirit:

38 “He will seem a woman. Why is there the immense difference between a new army and a veteran one that we have experienced ourselves? Recruits are generally younger, but habit teaches men to bear toil and despise wounds. Indeed, we often see wounded men being carried from the battle line: the raw, untrained soldier utters the most disgraceful wails even after a light blow. The trained veteran, made braver by that very experience, asks only for a surgeon to bandage him:

“‘O Patroclus, coming to you, I ask for help and for your hands,“‘Before I meet the cruel death dealt by an enemy’s hand.“‘[…]“‘And there is no way to stop the flowing blood,“‘If by your skill death can somehow be avoided.“‘For the wounded fill the porticoes of Aesculapius’s sons;“‘There is no way to get in.’“‘This certainly is Eurypylus.’ A well-trained man!”

37 “Now take military service. I mean ours, not the Spartans’. Their battle line advances to a beat and a flute, and no encouragement is given except in anapestic verse. First, you see where our armies get their name: from exercise. Then think of the work involved in marching. They carry food for more than half a month. They carry anything they want for their own use. They carry stakes for the camp wall. Our soldiers don’t count shield, sword, and helmet as part of the load any more than their shoulders, arms, and hands. They say weapons are a soldier’s limbs. And they carry them so conveniently that, when needed, they can throw down their loads and fight, using their weapons as freely as their limbs. And what about the legions’ drills? What work goes into all that running, charging, and shouting! This is where the spirit comes from that makes them ready for wounds in battle. Bring in an untrained soldier with just as much spirit:

38 “He’ll look like a woman. Why is there such an enormous difference between a new army and a veteran one, as we’ve seen for ourselves? The recruits are usually at a better age. But practice teaches men to put up with effort and disregard wounds. We often see wounded men carried out of battle. The raw, untrained man gives the most shameful cries at even a slight blow. But the trained veteran, braver for that very reason, simply asks for a doctor to bandage him: “‘Oh, Patroclus,’ he says, ‘I come to you for help and your hands. “‘I beg you, before I meet the grim death an enemy’s hand has sent, “‘[…] “‘And there’s no way at all to stop the flowing blood, “‘If death can somehow be better kept away by your skill.’ “‘The wounded fill the porches of Asclepius’ sons; “‘There’s no way in.—’ “‘Yes, this is certainly Eurypylus. What a well-trained man!’”