Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) Page 6

As Claudia walked behind his desk and kissed him gently on the forehead, he noted the sad air about her.

  “You’ve been to the doctor?” he asked.

  His wife nodded and took a deep breath before letting out a slow sigh. “Procula’s Curse,” she lamented quietly. “It seems Diana is not the only one of my father’s daughters to be barren.”

  Pilate immediately forgot his own concerns, taking Claudia in his arms as he stood and held her close. Claudia laid her head on his chest, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

  “I am sorry, my love,” she said, her voice shaking. “To think we were betrothed for so long, only to find I cannot fulfill my duty as a Roman woman.” Claudia Procula was only nine years old when she was betrothed to Pontius Pilate, who at the time was a young cavalry officer on the Rhine. That she was so much younger than him had allowed Pilate many years of enjoying a bachelor’s life before he was finally compelled to live up to his obligations. As she had been in her early twenties by this time, Claudia’s father had protested to him vehemently that he’d waited so long. “I suppose you’ll have to divorce me now,” she lamented.

  “No,” Pilate replied, “I don’t have to do anything. You’ve been so much more than simply she who would bear my children. Whenever I have needed a voice of sanity and reason in this mad place, you have always been there with it. I would rather spend the rest of my life with you than find a woman who is no better than a breeder slave.” It was not perhaps the best choice of words; however, they sufficed.

  Claudia wiped her tears away and kissed her husband affectionately. “I am still sorry that I cannot give you any children,” she said after a short silence. “I was looking forward to becoming a mother.”

  “Perhaps having your sister with us will help ease your troubles,” Pilate replied.

  “Rebekkah suggested I pray about it,” Claudia said as she slowly paced across the room.

  This caused her husband to roll his eyes. “Seriously, prayer is that woman’s answer to everything.”

  “Not at all,” Claudia said. “She is surprisingly well-educated and only turns to her understanding of the divine when all other methods fail her.”

  Rebekkah was a Jewish woman who Claudia befriended not long after their arrival in the province. An only child who lived with her widowed mother, she’d never married despite being exceedingly attractive. That she could read, write, and had a knack for both mathematics and architecture intimidated many of the local men who would prefer a spinster or one who was only interested in bearing them sons. Rebekkah had further told Claudia that Judean men preferred submissive, docile types who would never question them.

  “Well, though I did not agree with you hiring her as a personal attendant when we could have purchased another slave for less long-term cost, I confess she has been as faithful a companion as you could hope for.”

  “That she has,” Claudia observed with a smile. “I think Diana will adore her.”

  “Tell me,” Pilate stated as he sat behind his desk once more, “When she asks you to pray, which deities does she suggest you should pray to?” It was clearly a baited question.

  “Whichever ones suit me,” Claudia shrugged. “You need not fear, my love. Rebekkah does not seek to convert me to her faith.”

  “That is good,” Pilate asserted. “The last thing I need to explain to Sejanus or the emperor is my own wife accepting Judaism. They may allow the Jews to be monotheistic, but no Roman.”

  “Again, you need not worry,” Claudia reassured. “Rebekkah is my friend, and she understands the harm any attempts at conversion could cause. Though true to her own faith, she is actually quite fascinated by our vast pantheon.”

  Pilate decided not to press his wife any further. It was enough that she had received the devastating news that she could never have children, combined with the equally elating news that her sister would be joining them soon in Judea. Whatever deities her Jewish friend prayed to were the least of Pontius Pilate’s worries at the moment.

  Chapter V: New Horizons

  ***

  “Sergeant Felix reporting, sir,” the decanus said with a salute.

  “Stand easy,” Artorius replied, returning the courtesy. In the weeks between sending his reply to Pontius Pilate and when it actually reached him, he was assembling the volunteers from the western legions. The logistics alone of moving these men and all their personal baggage was arduous, hence his need for reliable subordinate leaders. The orders from Rome simply directed him to assemble his men and head for Judea, it did not say how or what resources were available to him.

  The centurion took a seat behind his desk and apprised the young man who stood before him. Artorius admired him greatly. Felix had been a severely overweight recruit that he had been particularly harsh to during his initial training a number of years before. He’d come close to breaking many times, yet he persevered and had served honorably ever since. The soldier had been through much during his time in the ranks; at one point suffering such a grievous abdominal wound during a raid that few thought he would live. He not only survived, but continued to excel as a legionary. Artorius had spontaneously promoted him to decanus during a lull in the Battle of Braduhenna, after two of his squad leaders had been killed. Felix was not only an able soldier, but a steadfast leader.

  “I see you added your name to the list of potential volunteers for our expedition to Judea,” the centurion noted, reviewing the list of names. In truth, almost all of his men had put their names on the list, and he regretted that he’d only be able to take a handful with him.

  “Yes, sir,” Felix replied confidently.

  “You’ve been in the ranks for almost ten years now,” Artorius continued. “You’ve served in two major campaigns, both times singled out for valor. I would be honored to have you with me in Judea, but not as a decanus.” He waited a few seconds as Felix looked crestfallen before sliding a scroll across the table.

  The young soldier’s eyes grew wide as he opened and read it. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”

  “We’ll take care of the particulars once I get the other officer billets sorted out,” Artorius replied with a grin. He then stood and clasped Felix’s hand. “Congratulations, tesserarius.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Felix said, saluting once more. “I must let Tierney know at once!” His face was beaming as he left. His common-law wife was a former Gallic noblewoman. Tierney’s father had disowned her after blaming her for the death of her sister during a raid in which Felix had attempted to save her. It was during this skirmish that he’d received his fearful wound, and it was Tierney who helped nurse him back to health. Though Roman law would not recognize the marriage until Felix was either promoted to centurion or retired from the ranks, they still lived very happily together and had three children.

  It was late when Artorius left the office and started the mile walk to his manor house in the city. Diana usually had his horse, and he preferred to walk. It was a cool spring evening, and the smell on the wind told him that a storm was coming. He wrapped his cloak around him as he walked out the gate where he was joined by his friend, Optio Gaius Praxus.

  “Artorius!” Praxus shouted as he hurried to catch up with him. “I heard you’re taking Felix to Judea as your tesserarius.”

  “You heard correct,” the centurion replied, continuing to walk with his cloak wrapped tightly around him. “I’m starting to think the dry heat would be a nice change of pace from here.”

  Praxus did not notice the scroll clutched in his friend’s hand. “So…any thought on who is going to be your optio?”

  “Valens,” Artorius replied without hesitation.

  Praxus immediately grabbed him by the shoulder, and the two turned to face each other.

  “What the hell, man? I’m not good enough to take to Judea?”

  “I never said you weren’t coming. I said you’re not coming as my optio. I was going to surprise you with this, but since you’re so damn persistent.” Artorius sighed and shook
his head. He then shoved the scroll into Praxus’ chest. He paused while allowing his friend to read the order. “You’ve been my subordinate for too long, when you were once a peer and a mentor. It is time you took that position once more. Macro is rather sentimental towards his old comrades from the Second Century, so convincing him to endorse your promotion came with little effort. The legate signed it this morning.”

  Praxus grinned from ear to ear as he read the scroll. “I’ll still be your subordinate, since no doubt they will have to promote you to centurion pilus prior,” he observed.

  “The difference in our rank is only a formality at this point,” Artorius responded as they started to walk once more. “You’ve been overdue for the centurionate for some time. I was surprised that Magnus got the position in the Fourth Cohort over you. His awarding of the Civic Crown won that for him.”

  “Speaking of Magnus, is he coming with us?” Praxus asked.

  “I’m still fighting that issue with Macro,” Artorius replied, “but I’m sure he’ll relent if I keep on him. Remember, I was his optio at one time. I know how to compel his better judgment.”

  “That will leave three other centurion vacancies,” Praxus remarked. “I wonder who they will choose to fill those. I don’t think they will allow any more to come from the Twentieth.”

  Artorius replied, “Most likely I will expend what good will I have left with Macro once I convince him to let me take Magnus. We’ll know more once we get to Ostia. Pilate’s taken the liberty to screen officers from the eastern legions. I hope he can convince Justus Longinus to join us. He’s spent almost his entire career in the east and he’s far more knowledgeable than any of us as to the customs and quirks of all the peoples in the region. The centurions will, of course, be allowed to choose their own options, who will likely come from the same legions as them. Speaking of which, you need to start looking at who yours is going to be.”

  “I never thought about that,” Praxus thought aloud. “This is all coming pretty quick. One minute I hear you’re leaving for Judea, the next I find out I’m not only going with you, I’m also going as a centurion! Well, at least Lucilla and I can make our marriage legal now!”

  “Ah yes,” Artorius said with a smile.

  Praxus had started seeing a woman a number of years before that he had met when assisting her father in subduing a pair of thieves that tried to steal his horses. The men were subsequently crucified, and Lucilla’s father had been so grateful that he tried to offer his daughter up to Praxus right there. They now had a five-year-old son and three-year-old daughter. It seemed most of Artorius’ friends had families. Though he and Diana could not have children, there was their adopted son, Metellus, who was also Artorius’ biological nephew. Only Magnus remained a bachelor, though with the amount of time he was spending with a childhood friend of his sister’s named Ana, it was speculated to only be a matter of time.

  “Now my children can also be legitimized,” Praxus said with his brow furrowed in contemplation. “I’m off to tell Lucilla to start packing. Need to look at selling our house, too.”

  “We’ve got a month before we need to set off, so you’ve got time,” Artorius replied. “Diana’s already looking at buyers for our manor.”

  “Yes, give my best to Lady Diana when you see her,” Praxus said over his shoulder as he walked away.

  It was dark when Artorius returned to his manor house. The howling wind had increased, and rain was starting to beat against the roof. His Jewish manservant, Nathaniel, greeted him wordlessly, taking his cloak. He had not yet told the slave that they were returning to the land of his birth.

  “Master,” another voice said. It was Proximo, who had been Diana’s family slave for a number of years. Though given his freedom two years prior, like many, he continued to stay in the employ of his former masters.

  “Good evening, Proximo,” Artorius said formally. “I trust you have my supper ready.”

  “Yes, sir. The Lady Diana is out. She said you would wish for some private time with your guest.”

  “What guest?” Artorius asked, puzzled. “I was not expecting anyone.”

  “Only me.” It was his son, who Artorius greeted with a laugh and strong embrace. Before his adoption, Metellus had served as an auxiliary soldier, but since became a legionary once confirming his status as a Roman citizen. Though since joining the legions, he had been assigned to a different cohort and so the two rarely saw each other.

  “Let me guess, you wish to come to Judea, too.”

  “Where you go, I will follow,” Metellus replied with a nod.

  “Son, you know you are not required to follow me across the empire,” Artorius explained. “You’ve established a solid reputation and have made a fine start to your career without my help. I’ve heard rumor that you may be on the cusp of making decanus. You realize that if you come with me to Judea, you may lose this opportunity for promotion.”

  “I understand,” the legionary replied. “I also know that Judea is an opportunity that may not come again. I want to go where I can do the most good for the empire, not just what is good for my career. And if I don’t come, who is going to protect you when you get into trouble?”

  Artorius chuckled at the remark. Metellus had saved his life at Braduhenna before the two had even officially met; it was later discovered that the reason the young soldier had fought so fanatically to save him was that he had discovered Artorius was his biological uncle. Once it had been proven beyond a doubt that Metellus was the son of his late brother of the same name, Artorius had immediately adopted him. “Very well,” he replied. “Just know that you will get no special favors from me. There will be volunteers coming from all over the empire, and all will have to reassert themselves to see who is most fit for promotion.”

  “I understand,” Metellus replied. “I would not have it any other way.”

  The two men dined together, with Nathaniel, Proximo, and a host of women servants bringing them the courses of their meal; the freedman and Artorius’ manservant being the only men on the household staff. This was a common occurrence, as house slaves were most often women. Male slaves usually ended up in the fields, the mines, or the arena.

  For father and son, theirs was an unusual relationship, as Artorius was only eleven years older. Despite Metellus serving in a different cohort, and that they rarely saw one another, there was still much familial affection between the two. Metellus had also formed a bond with his adoptive mother, Diana.

  The hour was growing late and Metellus was making ready to take his leave when Proximo opened the front doors and Diana strolled in. The storms had finally ceased, though her stola and cloak were both soaked.

  “Ah, Metellus!” she said with a smile, not seeming to notice her own discomfort.

  “Mother,” he replied, standing and walking over to her, kissing her on both cheeks. “Good to see you.”

  “Yes,” Diana replied, handing her cloak to a waiting servant before addressing her husband. “I apologize for being late, my dear. As you could hear, the rains were insufferable, and I’d hoped to wait out the storm. I finally decided to leave and take my chances in the rain lest I wear out my welcome with Lucilla.”

  “Ah, so she told you the news about Praxus?”

  “Yes! And I think it is an absolute delight that they will be coming with us. And what of you, Metellus, our son? Will you be joining us in Judea?”

  Metellus seemed uncertain what to say and glanced at his father. Though they had talked in depth most of the evening, they had not discussed for certain whether or not he would be joining the Judean cohort.

  “Yes,” Artorius said at last. “Yes, he will be journeying with us into the east.”

  The next day Artorius sat behind a long table as Magnus and Praxus walked in carrying a pair of large satchels.

  “We’ve got all the applications for volunteers from the western legions,” Magnus remarked. “We also managed to get each man’s official service records.”

  �
�How many volunteers are we looking at?” the Pilus Prior asked. “You know we are only allowed to take enough to fill three centuries.”

  “Over seven hundred,” Praxus answered. “A number of these ‘volunteers’ are merely troublemakers within their units that their officers would sooner dump on us rather than deal with themselves.”

  Artorius shook his head in disgust, though he was hardly surprised. He could understand how a commander would be reluctant to give up his best soldiers, and when tasked with providing volunteers for a new unit, it was logical that they would try and offload some of their less disciplined men.

  “I just hope we can find enough decent soldiers to fill all the vacancies in the cohort,” Artorius quipped as he and his centurions started to go through the list of applicants. “Justus Longinus is screening applicants from the eastern legions.”

  It would take several days of pouring through each man’s record and application. Unsurprisingly, there were a number that he would have been completely mad to accept. Some were downright comical, causing them to burst into laughter at the absurdity of the candidates in question.

  “Look at this one,” Magnus mused as he showed his friends one man’s record. “Seven flogging offenses, twice sentenced to forfeiture of pay for serious infractions, and once sent to the stockade for thirty days; all within his first three years in the ranks. A model soldier, this one!”

  “Yes, totally ideal for helping to restore order in a volatile province,” Artorius grunted.

  Thankfully for them, there were a number of men with good service records who were actual volunteers, rather than troublemakers that their officers were trying to rid themselves of. What they paid less attention to was a soldier’s rank. No principle officers had volunteered, and there were only a small handful of decanii. Artorius and Magnus had already vetted the handful of men who came from their own centuries. As they continued to read through the lists there was a knock on the door.