Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) Read online

  “Alright,” Artorius remarked. “We will stay here for three nights.” He then called over Felix and the decanus from the First Legion, whose name he had learned was Cicero. Artorius was baffled at how his detachment had somehow ended up so critically short on officers.

  In a normal century the ratio of legionaries to decanii was at most seven-to-one. Yet of the seventy-four men from the three legions along the Rhine they had picked up, Cicero was the only decanus. In order to assist, Metellus and two other legionaries had been temporarily appointed as acting squad leaders.

  Even though Artorius made a point of never using his influence to further his son’s career, he secretly hoped the position would be made permanent once the entire cohort was assembled. He thought perhaps there may be opportunities for his promotion. He fought against such notions. Even though patronage was often more important than ability and nepotism ran rampant throughout the legions, Artorius was determined Metellus would make his own way in the ranks. Even though Artorius was Metellus’ cohort commander, he would not allow them to serve in the same century together. In a way it hurt him, for he loved his son and was proud of the man and soldier he had become. Nothing would please him more than to fight on a battle line with Metellus at his side. Yet as a leader Artorius knew that perception, along with good order and discipline of his men, was far more important than his personal feelings. There would be no misconceptions of favoritism with him, no matter who it involved.

  “Acquire billeting for the men,” Artorius ordered his tesserarius. “They are to first conduct repairs of their sandals and kit with a full inspection by both of you before they are permitted to take leave.”

  “Yes, sir,” Felix and Cicero both replied.

  “Acting-Sergeant Metellus!” Cicero shouted, forcing Artorius to smile.

  “I say we find ourselves a comfortable place to bed down for the night,” Diana said as she guided her horse over to her husband, leaned over, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

  “I will encamp with my soldiers,” Artorius replied. “If you wish to find rooms for you and the other wives, please do so.”

  “The others can do as they please,” Diana replied, “But where you are, so am I.”

  When all was settled, they laid his cloak out on the ground, took some blankets from their baggage cart, and lay on the ground, using Artorius’ saddle pack as a pillow. The night air was cold, and the ground damp beneath his thick cloak but wrapped in a few blankets and with Diana’s head on his chest, Artorius was reminded once more why he loved this woman so much. In that moment, as he gazed up at the infinite stars that lit up the cloudless night, there was no other place he would rather have been.

  The next morning the three centurions went for a ride while their men completed repairs on their kit whilst indulging in the excesses offered by the city. As Lady Diana was the only spouse with a horse, she alone was able to accompany them. In fact, Artorius insisted she join them. They rode at a fast cantor on the dirt road that took them through the mountains towards Augustodunum, a hundred miles to the west. Diana was uncertain why they chose this particular road, but all three men seemed to be searching for the same thing.

  “Think we’ll even know it when we find it?” Magnus asked as they watered their horses in a creek that ran parallel to the road.

  Artorius looked around and took a deep breath of the mountain air. “It’ll be an open meadow on top of a flat rise with the road sloping down in either direction.”

  “Oh, that should be easy,” Praxus replied sarcastically, “There’s only, maybe, a hundred places matching that description between here and Augustodunum!”

  “Ass,” Artorius retorted. “You were there, too! One of us should be able to recognize the place.”

  “Possibly,” Praxus said. “It has been eleven years, though.”

  “Eleven years,” Diana interjected. “You were here during the Sacrovir Revolt?”

  Artorius grinned knowingly as he pulled an apple out of his saddlebag for his horse. “Somewhere around here.”

  “My lady, you heard about the nine who were awarded the Florian Crest?” Praxus asked.

  Artorius just smiled as Diana looked at his friend dumbstruck. He had never told her about how his squad prevented the rebel leader, Julius Florus, from escaping to start a new insurrection elsewhere within the Empire. It had been but one part of a much larger saga that had unfolded so quickly the entire rebellion was over before most of Rome knew it had begun.

  “Of course I’ve heard about them,” Diana replied. “The death of Florus crippled the rebellion before it could spread and allowed the legions to smash the main rebel army at Augustodunum.”

  “Well, you’re looking at two of them,” Magnus stated as he remounted his horse.

  Diana looked over at her husband. He simply smiled and shrugged, allowing his friends to tell the story for him.

  “Yes,” the Norseman continued. “We were in the same squad back then; with Artorius as our decanus. Our cohort, along with the cavalry regiment that would later be named Indus’ Horse, had routed the rebel army under Florus that was moving to reinforce Sacrovir.”

  “I was also a decanus then,” Praxus said. “Though we all fought on the same battle line, it was Artorius’ squad that Macro sent after that corpulent Gaul once he was spotted.”

  “Silly bastard was wearing an ornate breastplate and helmet that gleamed in the sun,” Magnus added. “It made him easy to spot when he was trying to escape through the trees! We pursued him, and I don’t doubt we would have caught his fat ass, although the arrival of Commander Indus and two of his men expedited things. Bloody coward killed himself or at least tried to.”

  “He threw himself on his sword,” Artorius explained. “Only he didn’t do it right and ran the weapon through his bowels instead of his heart. It was Magnus who finished him.” He nodded towards his friend as he finished explaining to Diana. “It wasn’t until after the fighting was over and Sacrovir hunted down that we were formally recognized. To be honest, I had almost forgotten about the entire ordeal, what with the cohort having to double-time back to Augustodunum to take part in the final battle. In fact, it was months later that the nine of us who took down Florus were awarded the Florian Crest.”

  “And what happened to the others?” Diana asked.

  “Commander Indus achieved much glory and renown,” Artorius began. “His regiment was named in his honor by Tiberius. He continued to serve as a regimental commander under Tribune Cursor through the Frisian Rebellion. I never knew the names of his two troopers, though.”

  “Legionary Gavius is still with the Twentieth Legion in our former century,” Magnus added. “Though he joined the army at the same time as me and Artorius, we kind of just grew apart over the years. It happens. And, of course, you know about Valens.” The mention of their ever-deviant friend who was now serving as Artorius’ optio brought a chuckle from everyone as they continued their ride. They were somber for a minute.

  “The other two…” Artorius started to say and found he could not continue.

  “Are no longer with us,” Praxus finished for him.

  “Carbo and Decimus were both killed at Braduhenna,” Magnus quickly added.

  “I remember them,” Diana added sadly. “I used to sometimes see Carbo on gate guard when I would visit the fortress. He always made me turn my weapon in before he’d let me through.”

  Artorius taught Diana how to fight like a legionary and had a gladius made for her soon after they were together. Wherever she went, Diana almost always carried her weapon beneath the folds of her stola. With her current attire of a Gallic tunic and riding breaches, her gladius was clearly visible, strapped to her hip.

  “It was Decimus who claimed Florus’ polished helmet with its magnificent plume,” Magnus reminisced. “I’ll never forget the entire march back to Augustodunum everyone could see it sticking out of his pack.”

  “He always said if anything happened to him he wanted it to go to Carbo,�
�� Artorius added. “Fate, however, decided that they should die together.”

  “What do you do with a legionary’s personal effects when he passes?” Diana asked.

  The turn of the conversation contrasted sharply with the sunny day and the pleasant sounds of the flowing creek, as well as the birds chirping in the woods.

  “Every legionary has part of his wages deposited into a burial fund,” Artorius explained. “If he is killed, this is used to cover the cost of any memorials built and is sometimes given to either his known family or someone he designated. The same is done with any personal effects. One of the more hateful tasks of a centurion is going through a dead soldier’s possessions with his decanus. It was particularly difficult when Decimus and Carbo died, as both had been my friends since I joined the ranks. Valens had been battlefield promoted and was their squad leader for barely a day. He took it especially hard, as the three of them had always been close. Carbo had no children, so all of his belongings went to his sister in Lutetia. And though neither could legally marry because of their rank, Decimus did have a daughter named Decima, who I think was around eleven at the time. His only other surviving relative was a distant nephew whom he had never met, so we made certain Decima received everything he owned.”

  “Except for Florus’ helmet,” Magnus added.

  “The legate was pretty adamant that it go to the Legion Museum with all the other war trophies from previous campaigns,” Praxes said. “It, along with Florus’ armor are still on display there.”

  They rode in silence for some time and Artorius sensed that Diana regretted broaching such an emotional topic. He brought his horse alongside hers, reached over, and took her hand in his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and caressed it gently with his thumb as she looked over and smiled at him. They came up a steep rise to an open meadow. To their right they could hear the sounds of the river, on the left was a more sparsely wooded slope. About five hundred meters ahead, the dirt road and the ground sloped down once more. In the distance they could just make out the bend in the road that curved right around a grove of trees.

  “This is it,” Artorius said quietly. “Wait here.” He rode at a fast gallop across the meadow and down the far slope. The others watched as he reached the bend in the road, about a mile away.

  “What’s he doing?” Diana asked.

  “I think I know,” Magnus replied.

  They all dismounted their horses and started to walk through the glade.

  “This does look familiar,” Praxus added, glancing around, “Though the grass was mostly flattened, as five-thousand men had camped here. Not many meadows in these parts are large enough for so many to bivouac.”

  After a few minutes they saw Artorius riding back, a look of triumph on his face. “I found it!” he said, which garnered knowing nods from his friends

  “What did you find, love?” Diana asked.

  “Something of the greatest insignificance,” he replied. “A rag tied to a tree just around the bend. The day prior to the assault, Macro and a group of squad leaders did a leader’s recon of the enemy camp. Once it was determined that the only viable avenue of approach was straight up the road, we left a rag tied to a tree near the bend, and another a couple miles further back. This signaled where we were to stage the cohort.”

  “I’m amazed the rag is still there,” Praxus said.

  Artorius shrugged. “It’s a rag,” he replied. “This road is not well traveled, and those that do come through here are not going to pay mind to a rotted piece of cloth tied to a tree.”

  “You said there were five thousand rebels in this camp,” Diana noted. “Yet you attacked them with just the Third Cohort? That was madness!”

  “You’re telling us!” Magnus grunted. “A legionary cohort is never at full strength, and I think there were maybe four hundred and fifty of us, at most. However, we did have a cavalry regiment with us.”

  “Indus’ Horse,” Artorius added. “They were with us, though they had yet to receive their honor from the emperor. They would earn it here. Many shared similar tribal ancestry as the rebels. In fact, Indus and Florus were both of the Treveri and possibly related. We were a touch worried about their loyalties, but they proved themselves both here and at Augustodunum.”

  “We were still badly outnumbered,” Praxus remarked. “It all came down to shock and surprise. Most of the rebel army was skirmishing with Indus’ cavalry back down the slope we just rode up. When we stormed the camp there were only a handful of them loitering about. We then reformed and attacked the main rebel army, with the woods masking our numbers. For all they knew, we could have been an entire legion.”

  “When it was over we counted roughly five hundred enemy dead,” Magnus remarked. “Most of Florus’ army was still intact and could have easily overwhelmed us. However, they panicked and ran. Most were never seen again. Bastards never even showed up for the final battle at Augustodunum!”

  “And somewhere up there,” Artorius said to Diana while pointing up the slope on their left, “is where we caught Florus. After Magnus finished him with a nice slash to the jugular, Indus insisted on carrying him back for proper burial.”

  “A rebel and a traitor he may have been,” Magnus observed, “but they were still kinsmen. The rest of the enemy dead we left to rot. If we look hard enough, we might find a trace here or there, but after eleven years I suspect even their bones have been consumed.”

  At the end of their three-day furlough, Artorius and his men once more began their trek south to the sea. With the early spring upon them, the Alpes were still covered in snow and many of the roads would be impassable. As such, he led his men to the coastal city of Massilia, where he’d sent Optio Valens ahead to secure them passage to Ostia and to Rome.

  Chapter VIII: Family Matters

  ***

  The final leg of their journey from Massilia to Rome was uneventful enough. Valens had been true to his word about getting them passage on a ship, and aside from a few of the men getting seasick, including Artorius, they made it to Ostia without incident. As the ship rose and fell in the rolling surf, oarsmen suddenly reversed their rowing, slowing the ship as it jarred against the side of the long dock.

  “Well, that’s that then,” Artorius said as he pulled himself up from the railing. His complexion was still terribly pale, and he swore he had not eaten the entire trip. “Two days at sea…I loathe to think what two weeks will be like!”

  The piers were extremely long, running several hundred feet, in order to accommodate large vessels needing to dock in deeper waters. Artorius waited until his men had all disembarked and their baggage was carried onto the dock. It was a hatefully long process lasting more than an hour, and the ship continued to rise and fall. The centurion could not fathom how sailors appeared completely unaffected as they used large hoists with slings to unload large crates of various cargo.

  Once the last legionary had disembarked, Diana took him by the arm and helped guide him down the long gangplank. He almost stumbled over the side, his equilibrium still unbalanced, and it was not the most dignified exit he could make, but there was nothing for it. It was late in the afternoon, and Artorius knew there was little left for them to accomplish other than finding quarters for the night.

  “Praxus,” he said to his fellow centurion. “Have a messenger sent to the praetorian barracks. Find out where Centurion Cornelius has the other volunteers for the cohort billeted.”

  “Right away,” Praxus replied. He seemed little worse for wear, having more of a stomach for the seas than most of their men.

  “And where will you spend this evening?” Magnus asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Home,” Artorius replied. “I sent a message to Father, letting him know I would be in Rome, though of course there was no way of telling him exactly when. It’s about ten miles from here, but I think a long walk will set me right.”

  “I’ve sent Proximo on with instructions for storing our baggage and finding a place for the servants
to lodge while we are here,” Diana added.

  “At minimum, we will be here a week,” Artorius noted as they walked along the long pier, attempting to avoid the bustling crowds of sailors and dock workers unloading their wares. “It all depends on whether or not the other legionaries have arrived and if transportation arrangements made.”

  Once on dry land, Artorius felt his former strength returning to him. He and Diana guided their horses as far as the outskirts of Ostia before mounting. Metellus joined them, at Artorius’ insistence. He had quite forgotten how much he loved springtime along the Mediterranean. The feel of the warm sun, and the pleasant breezes coming off the sea were a far cry from the wet, biting chill that permeated along the Rhine frontier.

  They were glad to be out of the city before dusk, as that was when the true congestion struck. Within Rome, and to an extent Ostia, wheeled traffic was only permitted at night, given the dense pedestrian population. In essence, the cities never slept. All food and commercial wares consumed by the massive population of the empire’s capitol could only be transported in sufficient quantities at night.

  Though it had been six years since he’d been home, Artorius still instinctively remembered the way. The once-dirt path that turned off towards the low hills where his family home lay was now widened with paving stones. There were other houses along the road, where once there had been nothing but open fields. About a mile from the end of their journey he noted, privately, the cottage that belonged to his stepmother, Juliana. It now appeared to be occupied. Years before, he had received word that his former love, Camilla, had died in that very house. Though he and Diana were very open about their respective pasts, Artorius decided there was no need to mention this detail to her.