Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) Read online

  “You know me too well, Mother,” he conceded. “Alright, so I don’t believe in the Republic. Mind you, it’s not that I don’t like the principles. It’s that the Senate lacks the competence to rule over a whorehouse, let alone an Empire that stretches from Hispania to Arabia. There are maybe a dozen decent men amongst their ranks; a dozen out of the two hundred active members and further additional four hundred of the senatorial class!”

  “Then you must decide now who will maintain the Empire after you have gone!”

  “Why, so they can plot against me and have me removed?” Tiberius rebuked. “The sons of Germanicus serve as my heirs. Despite the ill feelings of their mother towards me, I still see little need to view them as anything less than my adoptive grandchildren.”

  “The Senate worries that your animosity towards Agrippina will undo any sense of stability with her sons succeeding to the imperial throne,” Livia added.

  “The Senate will deal with my decisions like they do everything else,” Tiberius responded forcefully. “The sons of Germanicus will continue to serve as my heirs, provided their bitch of a mother keeps her place.”

  It was the first time ever that Livia had invited her grandson, Claudius, to dinner. He looked around nervously as he limped into the Empress’ private dining room within the imperial palace. Whereas his brother, Germanicus, had been a sculpture’s dream, physically gifted and unnaturally strong, Claudius had been born with a number of disabilities. It was as if the gods had shorted him because of all the gifts they had given his brother. His club foot made walking difficult, and his head twitched involuntarily. Stuttering didn’t help. While his afflictions were genuine, Livia had suspected for some time that he exaggerated them in public.

  “Th…th…thank you for inviting me to d…dinner, Grandmother,” Claudius struggled to say. A slave handed him an oversized chalice of wine, which he immediately drank heavily from. It was embarrassing that he was so nervous around her, but then Livia reckoned she had never been very kind to him, often berating him as a fool and an embarrassment to the family.

  By the time he made his way to his couch he had already emptied the chalice and was asking for more. Livia grinned inside, for the wine she had supplied was very potent and would loosen his tongue. She needed to see if her intuition about his exaggerated afflictions was true before she let him know her intentions.

  “I’m glad you made it,” Livia said after allowing for a slightly awkward silence.

  “Y…y…yes,” he started to say when Livia cut him off.

  “Oh stop it!” she snapped. “I know that you can speak properly, so lay off the charade already.”

  “S…sorry, Grandmother. I will try to speak better.”

  “I know more about you than you realize,” Livia said, leaning forward slightly. This caused Claudius to wince. “You didn’t think you could hide under the guise of a fool forever, did you?”

  “N…no, Grandmother, I suppose not.” Claudius took another long pull of wine and tried to relax a bit. There was no point in playing the fool with Livia any longer.

  “I wanted to also say that I know this is a trying time for you right now,” the Empress said, causing Claudius to lower his head and take another long drink of wine. “I, too, understand what it is like to lose a child.” Claudius’ son, also named Claudius, had been in his teens and was, in fact, betrothed to the daughter of the Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus, when he succumbed to a mysterious death by asphyxiation. Though the circumstances were suspicious, murder had been ruled out.

  “H…he was a good lad,” Claudius replied quietly. The death of his son was but one of the trials he had been facing of late.

  “Doubtless his marriage to Junilla would have been good for you as well,” Livia added. “Oh, don’t think I’m heartless. I just know that your son marrying the daughter of Sejanus would have placed you in a good position politically since my husband, as well as your uncle, has denied you in this regard.”

  “Augustus did not care for my history of the civil wars that I wrote all those years ago,” Claudius said, leaning back on his couch and sampling some figs. “He apologized to me for having it disposed of, although this was many years later.”

  “Your timing was terrible,” Livia replied. “While Augustus always appreciated candor, it was too soon after the civil war against Antony that you wrote possibly the most critical work ever written about him. It also served as a stark reminder to him that you are Marc Antony’s grandson. He knew your popularity with the Senate, as well as the common people, and he could not allow the possibility of them becoming sentimental and longing for the Republic to return. Most had forgotten that Antony was a traitor who had abandoned Rome in the first place.”

  “I assure you, Grandmother, that my sentiments have nothing to do with my lineage,” Claudius stated.

  “No, I understand you are still infatuated with that archaic system of government known as the Republic,” Livia countered. “It is all well and good. Your father was a republican at heart, as was his father. I suspect even Augustus himself longed for the days when the Senate could rule on its own. But those days are no more. Like it or not, Claudius, Rome needs a strong emperor. The Empire is too large for that squabbling mass of panderers and politicians to run effectively. I swear most of them cannot even agree on what to serve for lunch, let alone make important decisions affecting Syria or Hispania.”

  “There are still good men in the Senate,” Claudius replied, allowing himself to get a touch defensive. “Last summer when my house burned down, it was Caecina Severus who demanded that the public pay for its rebuild.”

  “I will grant you that Severus is among the good ones,” Livia conceded, “though he is a rare breed. He’s always had a soft spot for our family after he served with your brother in Germania.” Claudius smiled briefly at the mention of Germanicus.

  “Severus’ ties run deep with our family,” the Empress continued. “He served with and mentored both your father and your uncle, back when they were young soldiers bloodying their swords for the first time.” Livia took a drink of her own wine as she let Claudius contemplate where she was leading this discussion. She then thought about her grandson. How old was he now; thirty-five perhaps? She realized that she had said more words to him in the previous hour than in all those years combined. She just hoped that her present reassessment of the lad was correct.

  The awkward silence drew out until the servants brought their dinner. Claudius’ eyes brightened as he saw a large platter of spiced mushrooms placed on the table. Ignoring the bland broths and gruel his grandmother preferred, he helped himself to a huge bowl of the delectable mushrooms.

  “Really, Claudius,” Livia chastised, “must you make a swine of yourself? The way you are gobbling those mushrooms will be the death of you, I’m sure.”

  “Grandmother,” he said slowly, trying not to let the wine disable his thoughts. “You did not invite me over just to discuss my republican sympathies, or my eating preferences.” It was a bold statement, one which brought a smile to Livia’s face. She then produced a pair of scrolls, one of which she handed to her grandson.

  “This is a prophecy, given to me by my son’s astrologer, Thrasyllus,” Livia explained. “That obnoxious rat of a man is annoyingly accurate in his predictions sometimes.”

  “All this says is that a son of Germanicus will follow Tiberius to the imperial throne,” Claudius said after reading a few lines of the scroll. “There is no surprise there. After all, my nephews, Drusus and Nero, were adopted by my uncle.”

  “Keep reading,” Livia replied, taking another drink from her chalice. Claudius’ eyes grew wide as he finished reading.

  “But this can only refer to the youngest, Gaius Caligula!”

  “Yes, vile little monster that he is,” Livia agreed. Germanicus’ youngest son, Gaius, who was known as Caligula due to his mother dressing him in legionary caligae sandals as a child, was just shy of his thirteenth birthday and already displaying his terrible
qualities. His mother, Agrippina, spoiled and refused to discipline him, much to the chagrin of Claudius and all of their family friends. Claudius feared that the child was not just a mischievous brat; he felt that there was something much darker to him.

  “What did my uncle say when he saw this?” Claudius asked, holding the scroll up.

  “He doesn’t know,” Livia replied. “I paid Thrasyllus to keep quiet, and he knows not to cross me.” Claudius contemplated what he was reading before responding.

  “But if this holds true, then my uncle still has a number of years left in power,” he said after drinking some water and trying to clear his mind. “If by then you’re dead, what difference does it make to you?”

  “Because I still serve Rome,” Livia stated with an air of power in her voice. “Don’t think that because I am extremely old, and a woman, that I can’t still influence what happens in the Empire. I confess there is another reason. You know I spent the majority of my life married to Augustus. I divorced your grandfather and married him back when he was still known as Gaius Octavian and long before he came to power. He spent more than forty years as Emperor of the Roman Empire, and was deified by the Senate.

  “As a god, Augustus is free from any retribution the divines may have exercised against him in the next life. His enemies are powerless against him in both life and death. I do not hold such an advantage against the Fates.”

  “So you wish to become a goddess,” Claudius surmised, exhaling loudly. “Well, you certainly don’t lack for ambition, Grandmother.” He looked like he immediately regretted his words, though the Empress dowager did not take offense, for her grandson was correct.

  “My son does not believe in the deification of monarchs, though he allowed the Senate to make Augustus a god for political stability,” Livia replied. “He would not allow himself to be cast as the one who attempted to deny the beloved Augustus his divinity. Tiberius will make no such concessions for his dear old mother. So I must look to another.”

  “You think I can influence Gaius Caligula to make you a goddess?” Claudius asked. “I admit that he always acts as if he is fond of me as his uncle…” Livia’s laughter cut him short and he sat up quickly, startled.

  “Oh, you are a fool after all!” Livia mused, tossing the other, much larger, scroll at her grandson. “No, if Gaius Caligula does indeed succeed my son as emperor, I suspect that he will not sit on the throne for long. But I will still need you if I am ever to reach the divine and see my beloved Augustus again.”

  “Of course,” Claudius replied. “Not sure what a fool like me can accomplish, but if it is in my power, Augustus will take you by the hand and lead you into paradise.” As he spoke he started to unroll the scroll before realizing it was an entire book. “What is this?”

  “Prophecies of the Divine Sybil, kept out of the official texts by order of Augustus. Mark well the dates, for the Sybil has never been wrong on such important matters. In fifteen, perhaps sixteen years’ time, your destiny will be revealed to you.”

  That evening Claudius sat in his study, reading the book Livia had given him. His wife had already moved out of the house. Claudius was divorcing her on grounds of infidelity, seeing as how she was now pregnant with a child that could not possibly be his. There was also the issue of her being suspected in the murder conspiracy involving her sister-in-law’s death. Still, the issues with her were the least of his worries. As he read, the effects of the wine from earlier suddenly evaporated. His eyes grew wide as he read the prophecies set forth by Sybil, Rome’s holiest of oracles.

  “No,” he gasped. “It cannot be!”

  Chapter II: An Uneasy Peace

  Fortress of the Twentieth Legion, Valeria, Cologne, Germania

  ***

  “The frost is off the ground,” Calvinus observed as he eyed the cool spring morning. The Legion’s Master Centurion leaned on the dew-stained rampart of the front gate as he watched the city of Cologne coming to life in the light of the rising sun. Markets were opening, with merchants noisily setting up their wares as a section of legionaries marched towards the gate having finished their nighttime patrol of the city.

  “And with no spring campaign planned, we need to keep the men duly occupied,” replied Lucius Apronius, the Commanding Legate.

  Training for the annual Legion Champion tournament would keep some of the lads busy as they sought to dethrone the young soldier who held that honor. For Optio Titus Artorius Justus, the pressure of defending his title did not weigh on him like it would others. For starters, he was not required to take part in the tournament itself. Rather, the competition would take place without him, with a tournament winner being named. That legionary would then face Artorius, the defending champion, a week later in a single bout.

  The previous spring had been the first time Artorius had defended his title since the Third Cohort returned from its garrison duty at Lugdunum. The match had been anticlimactic, with the Optio dispatching his opponent in less than a minute.

  “You know everyone was a lot more excited to watch the Pankration competition,” added Calvinus, the Legion’s Master Centurion. “It was something different, watching men fight in the arena without weapons.”

  Apronius responded with a scowl. “That’s all very well, except for the fact that nearly a third of the men who took part in that tournament ended up badly injured and unable to perform their basic duties for almost a month!”

  “There are no campaigns planned,” Calvinus reasoned as they descended the ramparts and entered the Legate’s quarters. “This corner of the Empire is relatively at peace for once, so if the lads want to beat themselves into oblivion in the name of sport, let them.” He then shuffled through some papers that he had brought into the commanding Legate’s office and handed two of them to Apronius.

  “Retirement certificates requiring your signature,” he explained. “Two of my First Cohort Centurions have decided to call it a career.”

  Apronius whistled quietly when he read the citations. The men were among the Centurions Primus Ordo, the elite commanders of the centuries within the First Cohort. There were only four per legion, and they were senior to the Cohort Commanders, answerable only to the Master Centurion. One man had been in the legions for thirty-two years, the other for twenty-nine. Each had had a distinguished career, as only the best within the ranks ever made it to Centurion, and of these only a minute few ever made it to Primus Ordo.

  “We will make sure we have a proper send-off for these men,” the Legate directed as he signed the orders. “I take it you have replacements selected?”

  “Your predecessor, Legate Gaius Silius, had already authorized two men to be placed on the roles as selectees for these positions. Both men are of the Third Cohort. One is their commander, Centurion Pilus Prior Valerius Proculus. The other commands the Third Cohort’s Second Century, Centurion Platorius Macro.”

  The sky was cloudless and the sun bright. For Tabbo, war chief of the Frisian army, this was the perfect day. The path leading through Braduhenna Wood to the River Rhine was clear this day, though groves of trees lay thick on either side, creating a canopy of shade. Frisia was a tiny kingdom along the coast of the North Sea. Though their territories lay east of the Rhine, they were still a sub-province of the Roman Empire and subject to what amounted to a modest tribute. It was ruled by King Dibbald Segon, son of Diocarus Segon. Diocarus had been an old man when he came to the throne; his father, Adel IV, had been a young boy when he became King and ruled an astronomically long eighty-one years. Diocarus’ reign was much shorter, lasting only four years. His son, Dibbald, had ruled for ten years so far. He was also a great warrior, and father to Prince Klaes, who was roughly the same age as Tabbo. Both men had led two cohorts of allied auxiliaries for Rome during the Germanic Wars and had fought at Idistaviso nine years prior.

  Tabbo was in his early thirties and displayed a strong, Nordic physique. He kept his hair around shoulder length, and his face was clean shaven, showing his powerful, square jaw
line. He wore a simple tunic vest this day, along with woolen breaches. Like all Frisian warriors he was an expert in close combat and preferred using a short, double-bladed hand axe as his primary weapon, which was attached to a baldric and hung off his left side. In battle he would wear a bronze helmet and carry an oblong shield, though today was not a day for battle. In fact, the last time Tabbo had swung his axe in anger was at Idistaviso.

  With him walked a strong and attractive young woman. Her name was Amke, and she was the niece of King Dibbald. Frisian culture allowed certain women to serve as warriors within a special regiment of the King’s bodyguard. Amke was only twenty years old, but she was already a capable warrior.

  “I’ve never been this far west before,” she observed as she and Tabbo approached the southernmost bridge.

  “I know,” Tabbo replied, “that is why I have brought you with me today.”

  “Where are we going?” the young warrior maiden asked as they stepped onto the wooden bridge. It was sturdy, built by the Romans four decades previously. Half a dozen men could comfortably walk abreast and it was perfect for trade. Amke paused to gaze into the water of the rushing Rhine.

  “A little place up on a hill off the beaten path a bit,” Tabbo answered. “There is something I want you to see.” As war chief, Tabbo was responsible for all the fighting men, and the women at that, who served Frisia under arms. As niece of the King, Amke was soon to be named the head of the all-female regiment of the King’s bodyguard, and Tabbo felt the need to help with her education of the world around them and the people they dealt with. One never knew whom they would have to fight beside, or against for that matter. As soon as they crossed, Tabbo led them north through an open field. After a mile or so, they came to a wooded hill. Amke followed the war chief in silence as he made his way to the top. There he found a spot overlooking a small open valley.