Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion (27 page)

Our arrival
had kept them and their friends alive.

To them,
it was something of a miracle.

I appreciated their cheers and good natured shouts, but then I realized that most of the adulation was bein
g directed at me and me alone.  Every eye I met was already looking at me and the mass of assembled troops did seem to gravitate around Felix.  I was being swarmed from all directions, and I grew concerned that they would scare poor Felix, but he was a good horse, and he ignored them as they pressed closer, their hands groping upwards.  I gripped a few arms as I passed, wishing those who I came into contact with good health or tidings.

A grin spread across my face
at the adulation, and I found myself waving and flapping my arms up and down like an athlete trying to rile up a crowd.  It worked, and the men cheered even louder.  We were about a third of way to the
praetorium
when I let myself really bask in the glory and adoration I was receiving.  Such appreciation was more than deserved after all I’d done in the past five years, and it was well past due.  I was owed this like no one else knew, and I was ready to take it all in.

But t
he crowed began to disperse as we neared the
praetorium
, giving us more room to maneuver.  By this point, I could see a short man with hard features standing outside the central tent that I knew to be the legate’s quarters.  Unlike the legionnaires around him, he did not seem particularly pleased to see me.  Maybe it was a pride thing since we’d just bailed the guy out of a jam or perhaps my reputation preceded me.

Mere feet
away, I pulled back on the reins gently and Felix slowed to a stop.  Galba rode up beside me and stopped as well. 

He
saluted and initiated the greetings, as we’d decided on earlier.  “Hail, Legate Plautius.  You are well met.”

The man nodded.  “Well met, indeed
, Legate Galba.  I thank you for your intervention here,” the man said in a tone that suggested he was hardly thankful for anything.

“Your thanks is unnecessary, Legate,” Galba said with a low bow from his horse.  “We were merely acting in the best interests of Rome.”

Plautius nodded.  “As do we all, my friend, but regardless, it is good to see you again.  After what happened to Legate Hosidius Geta earlier this year, I feared a similar fate would befall you.  Things are not the same as they once were…”

Galba nodded.  “Exactly why we are here, Legate.  Exactly…”

I cut Galba off with the clearing of my throat.  We’d agreed he’d make the initial greeting and introductions, not hold a conversation with his old war buddy.  Besides, I was technically his boss here, not the other way around.

Plautius
clearly looked upset at the way I’d interrupted his friend, but held his decorum.  “And you are, sir?”

“Legate Jacob Hunter,” I replied.  “Uhh… commander
of the armies of the North, general of the Felix legions.”

“
What??”  He asked, his voice rising.  “Just who in Tartarus is Legate… Jay-Kob Hoon-tar?”  The man demanded.  “I have never even heard of such a name, let alone one holding the rank of legate.

Galba sighed loudly from beside me and Plautius turned to his old friend for clarification.  The two met eyes and Galba shrugged wearily.
  “You don’t have to like him Aulus,” Galba clarified with a dismissive wave in my direction, “and believe me, you most likely will not, but he is a very important man and has important business that needs done here in Britain.

“
We have much to discuss.”

***

I was sick and tired of meetings around tables.

In fact, I hated them.  Loathed them
, really.

I’d had more discussions around tables here in Ancient Rome than I cared to
remember, but my deep-seated hatred of such things began well before life in Rome.  Most civilians never realized just how much of a Special Forces operator’s time was spent planning an operation, which involved sitting in a conference room around a table, or in a small auditorium of some sort, watching, observing, discussing, and analyzing presentations detailing mission objectives and operating parameters.  Often, thousand-slide Power Point presentations were created, many of them so intricate and information-heavy that they rivaled even the brightest seventh grader’s presentation on how to make a compass using basic household items.

It
was truly outstanding stuff.

No really
, it was.

But I was done with them
, and the truly glorious thing was that I’d never had the power to be done with them before.

But I did now.

If I had to sit through another meeting around a table with Vincent or Archer or Galba or Vespasian or Aulus Plautius or any other asinine Roman or other individual ever again, I was going to go nuts.

At least…
more nuts that I was already going.

That’s why we were already back on the road again
having only spent one night in Plautius’ legion camp, blazing our way through the hinterlands of Britain.  I’d decided on our very first night in camp, that there was simply no way I could waste the next four months sitting on my hands before setting out to Anglesey, and even that one night seemed like too much wasted time already.

While
Aulus Plautius had seemed a decent enough fellow, I had no need to bring him into my inner circle of friends or comrades.  He seemed competent and humble in his position as legate of the sole legion left in Britain, and he came off as a good strategist and competent leader, but once Galba’s introduction had been completed and he’d politely invited us into his
praetorium
, he’d gone all Roman on me, as they always did, and I no longer cared if I ever saw him again.

Vespasian’s drafted orders to Aulus Plautius had been to allow me free rein to do as I wished in Britain
, although the unwritten interpretation was that I’d help Plautius first.  At least, that’s how Plautius and Galba had understood my orders, but Vespasian knew I had no actual skill or experience waging mass warfare, so I never actually figured he wanted me to lead troops into battle personally.  It seemed to me that he wanted me to deliver his troops to Britain safely, but then do whatever I needed to do as long as I had Rome’s best interests at heart.

Granted, that was simply my interpretation of
Vespasian’s orders, but my two Roman companions had disagreed emphatically.  Not only had Plautius disliked the fact that Vespasian’s appointment had technically placed me above even
him
in the chain of command, but was also enraged that Vespasian had given me leave to pursue my own personal objectives at all.  Plautius had no idea who I was and certainly had no reason to trust me, and even Galba’s backing hadn’t done much to ease his qualms.  He’d been willing to accept my help and take my legions, but he hadn’t been willing to divide that force so that I could do what I needed to do.

And he certainly
hadn’t been happy with my final decision to take off toward modern day Wales with three cohorts of the
XV Primigenia
as backup – a
reconnaissance unit in force
, I’d called it.  Nor had he been happy with his old friend Galba when he’d, reluctantly, backed my decision.  I hadn’t asked him to, but either he must have empathized with our situation more than I’d thought, or else he felt he owed it to Vespasian.

Plautius hadn’t understood in the slightest
.

He’d ranted and raved about military strategy, tactical acumen, common sense, and the
immoral nature of knowingly leading fifteen hundred men to their deaths, as I surely would do by marching them into the
Great British Unknown
, as he’d called it like it was a proper name.

The three of us had stood around a map of Britain as Plautius raged,
which was exactly when I realized I would never again hold a meeting of such importance around a table, but it wasn’t until Plautius had accused me of being a traitor – owing such suspicion to my odd accent, manner of clothing, and weaponry – that I’d punched him square in the jaw.

The strike may have hurt my hand more than it had his face, but damn had it felt good to put one of these Roman assholes in his place.  I still didn’t know why I’d snapped at the accusation of being a traitor, especially since I really didn’t owe allegiance to anybody in this godforsaken time period
, but laying him out had still felt like the right thing to do.

And
Plautius had gone down hard.

I was a
pretty big guy, especially when compared to most of these Romans, who were quite tiny in comparison.  Obviously, each and every legionnaire was in impressive shape athletically, but I had two thousand years of evolution and modern strength training on my side, and had the mass and body strength to prove it, but I’d never considered myself a particularly intimidating person.  I’d always considered my features too soft, almost boyish, but that had been five years ago.  They’d hardened after my time as a Navy SEAL fighting in World War III, but the ensuing years in Ancient Rome had left me barely unrecognizable in the mirror anymore.  Crow’s feet tugged at my eyes, laugh lines that didn’t seem so humorous pulled around my mouth, and my face seemed gaunter than ever before.  While Helena never mentioned my changing complexion to me, I saw it almost every single day.  Her own face may have remained just as lovely as ever, but over the past year especially, I’d watched my own grow hard and old and cold.

But even so, I still didn’t consider myself particularly intimidating, but the look Aulus Plautius had on his face as he stared up at me from the ground seemed so terrified, that it scared me in return.  What had
a confident, competent Roman general seen in my face that had caused him to look at me in such fright?

I didn’t know and I didn’t want to know.

All I wanted was to go home.

Galba had helped Plautiu
s to his feet, and Plautius hadn’t been too proud to accept his help.  He’d risen slowly, brushed himself off, and asked me to leave.  I’d given the man a mock Roman salute, pounding my hand against my chest hard but then flinging an open hand with wiggling fingers at him lazily, before turning and leaving.  Galba had caught up to me before I left and gripped my arm with an impressively powerful hand.

I looked down into his fat and ugly face and glowered at him.
  “What is it, Galba?”

The man stared up at me with his
unusually hard eyes, no hint of concern present.  Either he was too stubborn to be intimidated by me, or he just didn’t care anymore.

“What are
my
orders, Legate Hunter?”  He asked, his voice professional and without emotion.

I blinked in surprise, having forgotten that
I hadn’t yet decided what to do with him.  I could have used him for my journey, his knowledge of the natives, general warfare, and diplomacy making him an invaluable tool, but I wasn’t even taking half a legion with me into the wild.  It seemed like a waste of resources to bring him along, as he and Plautius together against the Britons would be far more formidable than just one or the other alone.

“Stay with the legions, Galba,” I ordered.  “They’ll need you more than I do.”

Then another thought came to me as I stood there at the tent’s threshold.

The journey to
the Isle of Mona and beyond had the potential for being the most dangerous thing I’d ever done.  Even without Agrippina’s involvement for once, we were heading into uncharted territory where I suspected the natives were more likely to shoot first and ask question later, rather than the other way around.  There was a good chance this was a one way trip; not a suicide mission per se, but one that had a number of possible endings attached to it, not all of them worth thinking about.

His hand was still gripping my bicep when I had this thought, and witho
ut thinking, I reached out to peel it off.

“Remember what I said back in your tent all those months ago?”  I asked.  “About your legacy in this world
, or lack thereof really?”

His eyes widened at the question, and his expression seemed sad now rather than angry
.  “Such words are hard to forget.”

“Forget
I said them,” I said, and his look turned confused.  “Just forget I said anything, Galba.  Make your own damned fate.”

I walked away with those words
, not really understanding why I’d said them, and Galba hadn’t followed.

That was the last I’d seen of him before setting out
.

After the entire ordeal in Plautius’
praetorium
, which had only lasted fifteen minutes from entrance to exit, I’d been depressed and furious at the same time.  I marched directly out of Plautius’ camp and trudged toward my own, which was still under construction, and went straight for my
praetorium
.  I stormed my way inside and tore off my clothing, throwing everything but my boxer shorts into a corner.