Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (8 page)

“They bloody well did when I was in the middle of the
sea on a rocking boat wearing fifty pounds of crap!” Olaf retorted. “It was a hard call to make; either I keep my mail on, knowing that if I went over the side I would surely drown, or remove my armor and run the risk of being felled by any weapon the enemy carried! Needless to say, I stayed fully armored.

“
With four hundred vessels, our fleet had just a few more actual ships than Antony. However, ours were much smaller liburnian ships with only two rows of oarsmen. It was tales I told of the bravery of these men that prompted Magnus’ brother, Oleg, to become one of them! Antony’s fleet consisted mostly of the quinquereme class; ships much larger than ours. In fact, they had three rows of oars, with the top row requiring two men per oar. So even though we had more ships, as far as manpower was concerned, Antony bore a slight advantage to us. Even so, an outbreak of malaria had caused a severe shortage of rowers for his boats. This turn of events proved fatal.”

“That must have been quite a sight,” Artorius observed, his chin resting in his right hand, an empty goblet rolling between the fingers of the other. A servant-the master of the house in fact-quickly
refilled his cup.

“Ay, it was quite a sight,” Olaf recalled.
“Mind you, we had our small piece of the battle to stay focused on; much like you men did during your battles against the Cherusci and Gallic rebels. Besides, by the time we engaged I was pretty well lit out of my mind! Thankfully when we took a shower of arrows from a flanking ship, I still had the presence of mind to fall into the testudo formation with the rest of the lads! I couldn’t stop from laughing, even as arrows skipped off our linked shields.

“Well before that there was quite the wait, which was very tiresome since I had run out of mead and was constantly having to piss. We had encircled the harbor and were basically trying to wait Ant
ony and the Alexandrian Twat out. Did you know there was a bet amongst every ship in the fleet as to which crew was going to capture and ravage the little harlot first? I never saw what was so attractive about that big-nosed trollop to begin with, especially after Caesar and Antony had had their old-man hands all over her…but hey, I figured I could give her a good shagging for the sake of my country!” Artorius could not help but laugh at Olaf’s constant sidebars to his story. His words were starting to slur as he downed his fifth cup of mead. Magnus was pacing himself a bit while keeping an eye on his grandfather.

“At any rate,” Olaf continued. “What Antony did not know was that one of his generals; a fine fellow named Delius, had betrayed him and given Octavian and Agrippa his entire scheme of battle! So when Antony had to extend his line because he could not concentrate his forces without getting flanked, he wore out his already sick oarsmen before they even got to us. We hammered them with catapult and ballista fire, staying easily out of range of their three-ton rams. Only once did we end up boarding a vessel. We sank one with our own ram; and I almost went over the side trying to board it as we backed away! When we finally did get a chance for some fighting, the enemy was pretty well spent. In fact, I think I only killed maybe one or two
during the entire battle, and I was one of the lucky ones! It was from the prow of the captured vessel that we saw the Ptolemaic Twat bugger off with her entire fleet! Bloody cowards did not even try and engage us. I hate to admit it, but my most famous battle is the one I played the littlest part in.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Actium,” Magnus said, staring into his mead. “I would like to see the monument Octavian erected on the site of the battle.”

“I admit it is impressive,” Olaf concurred. “The rams of enemy ships were mounted in sockets on a massive stone monument. Two in every three of Antony’s ships were captured or sunk. It made for quite the display! Ah, but that was a
long
time ago…” His voice drifted off as his head fell onto the table. Soon a loud snoring was heard echoing throughout the room.

“I thought you said Olaf went completely insane when he’s on the mead?” Artorius asked, looking at his friend, puzzled. Magnus could only shrug in reply.

“Perhaps old age is catching up to him after all…” the young Norseman started to reply.

“I’ll show you old age, you sodden bastard!”
Olaf yelled as he leaped over the table and tackled his grandson out of his chair. Artorius signaled for a servant to bring him some water as he sat back and watched Magnus and his grandfather roll on the floor, beating each other without mercy. As much as he was acquiring a taste for mead, he knew that if he did not drink plenty of water too he would have a headache in the morning to match the one he knew his friend and deranged grandfather would surely have.

Chapter VI: All Power

At last the city of Lugdunum was coming into view once more. As good as it was to see home and his family; Artorius was relieved to be back with his men. The joy
of going home had been tempered by Camilla’s death. As he leaned against the railing, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the River Rhodanus, he was joined by Magnus and Olaf. The two Norsemen were looking better than they had recently, the extensive bruising on their faces subsiding over the last two weeks.

“You two are looking better,” Artorius observed with a grin. Magnus snorted and Olaf waved a hand dismissively.

“You have to admit, that was some fine mead!” Olaf said boisterously. “And to think my whelp of a grandson here had the audacity to call me old!”

“I suppose it would be more appropriate to say you are adv
anced in years,” Magnus replied, “though you’ll never allow yourself to grow old.”

“That’s because the idea of becoming an old man terrifies the piss out of me,” Olaf retorted. Artorius laughed and shook his head. Olaf had to at least be in his eighties, and yet he was scared of becoming an old man.
“I’ve seen stooped, old men who are probably young enough to be my sons. It’s not that they were crippled in battle-which is about the only noble way of becoming an invalid-but rather they just refused to take care of what the gods gave them and allowed themselves to fall into a decrepit state. Pathetic, I tell you! I’ll still be fighting my great-grandchildren when I’m a hundred years old.” He slammed his fist against his chest to emphasize his point as Magnus slowly walked away from him.

As the ship docked in the Lugdunum harbor Artorius saw a tall Scandinavian woman that he surmised was Magnus’ sister, Svetlana. However it was not she that Magnus rushed to greet as he disembarked the ship.

“Valens, you fucking prick!”
the Norseman bellowed as his friend stepped quickly away from his sister. Magnus dropped his pack and started after Valens, only to feel a hard slap across his ear as Svetlana quickly stepped between.

“And who’s the
fucking prick
who can’t even say hello to his baby sister after all these years!” she bellowed at him, reminiscent of Olaf. Svetlana was hardly a baby; in fact she was a hair taller than her brother.

“Magnus, I swear I’ve behaved myself!” Valens said from a distance.

“Indeed he has,” Svetlana asserted. “So is my big brother going to greet me or do I have to demonstrate on you what Grandfather taught me?” She emphasized her last point with another cuff across the ear. Artorius tried to keep from laughing. It would seem that Magnus’ entire family was prone to physical violence as a means of affection.

“I told you she had some spunk to her,” Olaf whispered in Artorius ear with some scarcely contained laughter.

“By Odin you’ve grown!” Magnus said, seeming to notice his sister for the first time. Relieved that as far as he knew Valens had kept his lecherous hands off of Svetlana he felt more comfortable embracing her. “All these years I’ve remembered you as an awkward little girl and now you’re a woman.”  As he bent to pick up his pack he cringed when saw Svetlana take Valens’ hand in hers. “I thought you said he behaved!”

“He has,” Svetlana replied coyly, “but that doesn’t mean
I
have.” Magnus groaned in reply as Artorius smacked him on the shoulder.

“Hey, at least Valens finally found himself someone respectable!”
The look Magnus gave him clearly stated he was
not
happy with the situation and was ready to give Artorius the beating of his life if he said one more word.

“It is with a heavy heart that I come before Rome’s ruling fathers today,” Tiberius said, his voice carrying throughout the Senate house. The assembly shifted nervously in their seats, never certain as to their Emperor’s demeanor and usually guessing wrong at his intentions.
Haterius Agrippa was particularly nervous, though he felt certain that he had acted with the Emperor’s best intentions in mind. He stood to voice these concerns; however, Tiberius raised a hand silencing him.

“I do not doubt that this august body acted with the interests of both and my son,” the Emperor continued. “The loyalty of the Senate is something I am eternally grateful for. However, when seeking to protect the person of the Emperor, one must be just, but temperate when dispensing justice.

“Know that I thank Senator Agrippa for his zeal in coming to the defense of my son after the insults of a foolish man. I also thank Senator Lepidus for not only his loyalty, but also his prudence and level-headed voice of reason.
Words
, good senators, are not deeds. Had Priscus spoken of treasonous plots against my person or that of my son, of course I would expect the law to exact justice in its more extreme. However, no such treason was evident in Priscus’ words; written or spoken.” He paused to allow the senators to absorb what had been said. As usual, there was a lot of nervous shuffling as each man tried to gather the full extent of Tiberius’ meaning. In his mind he was being straightforward and expecting the senate to act on its own sense of reason. In their minds, however, the Emperor was ambiguous in his remarks and left further confusion. Finally Senator Lepidus stood to address the assembly.

“Caesar, honorable senators; whereas we seek to protect the best interests of the Imperial family, this legislative body, as well as the whole of the Empire, how then do we protect such persons to the fullest without overstepping the bounds of reason? I propose a simple measure that will rectify any further embarrassments on this house.” Lepidus shot a dark look at Agrippa, who scowled at the veiled insult.
“A simple stay of sentence will alleviate any rash judgments. Therefore, I propose that any sentence instituted by the Senate of Rome be postponed for nine days to allow time for cooler heads to review and implement justice that is both hard but fair.” He then turned his gazed towards the Emperor, who nodded affirmatively. Agrippa had also seen Tiberius’ gesture and he seized upon it in order to save any face he may have lost.

“I second the motion and move for an immediate vote!” he spoke quickly as he came to his feet. The corner of Tiberius’ mouth twitched slightly, pleased as he was by Lepidus’ motion. As he rose to his feet to leave the
hall, the rest of the senate also stood as a sign of respect. Though Tiberius knew that the Senate would vote how they thought he wanted them to, he did not want to give the impression of influencing any vote; therefore he left before any further action on the motion could be taken. Outside the senate house Sejanus was waiting for him.

“It is done,” Tiberius said as he continued walking, Praetorian guards falling in on either side of him. As soon as the Emperor climbed into a waiting litter slaves hoisted it up and started the walk back to the imperial palace. Sejanus walked beside the litter.

“If I may be so bold,” the Praetorian Prefect began, “I know it is not my place to question the judgments of the senate, and even less so that of your highness.”

“Sejanus my old friend,” Tiberius replied, pulling the veil of the litter aside and propping himself upright onto some pillows, “you know that I cherish your candid feedback more than any; probably because you are among the few who will say what is on your mind, rather than what you think I want you to say.”

“It’s just that…well to be perfectly blunt Caesar, I did not agree with your assessment that words are not deeds. Treasonable utterances can lead to wider sedition, which in turn brings about discourse and eventually threatens us directly.”

“Sejanus,” the Emperor replied, sighing audibly, “You know I am not one for bringing someone to trial just for speaking foolishly.”

“I am not speaking of poor Priscus,” Sejanus corrected. “He was indeed a fool; but a harmless one. No, what I speak of is something a little…
darker.”
Tiberius sat up, suddenly curious.

“Have you heard such things?” Sejanus smiled internally, knowing that he had at last planted the seeds of doubt within the Emperor.

“Only traces here and there,” he replied. “Nothing I would be alarmed about. However, you do have enemies; some I hate to say, within your own family.”

“You need not remind me about Agrippina and her lot,” Tiberius replied with a scowl, settling back down once more. All around them the city of Rome slowly moved by. People trying to catch a glimpse of the Emperor were forced back by the Praetorians on either side of the litter. At the head of the procession a Centurion was barking orders for people to move out of the way. For Tiberius it was a tedious ordeal. He could not even so much as leave the palace and go to someone’s house without surrounding himself with Praetorians
. And though he preferred to walk, it was Sejanus who suggested he ride in a covered litter for extra protection. Given their present conversation, Tiberius wondered if there was indeed that much of a threat to his personal safety. Even Agrippina, who was both his niece as well as one of his most hated enemies, would not dare to even think of such a thing. He put this to his Praetorian Prefect.

“Agrippina is a thorn in my side,” he observed, “however
; she would not dare to seek my physical demise.”

“If only that were so,” Sejanus replied, baiting the Emperor even more.

“What do you mean?” Tiberius asked, perplexed. “She is still friends with my son, and surely Drusus would be the first to hear of any truly treasonable talk on her part!” Sejanus’ face twitched at the mention of Drusus Caesar.

While it was tempting to try and implicate his hate rival as well, he knew better. Tiberius may have had a sometimes awkward relationship with his son, but nevertheless he knew that Drusus’ love and loyalty to be unquestionable. Sejanus knew that if he even so much as hinted otherwise he would quickly be on the receiving end of Tiberius’ wrath.
So as much as it pained him, Sejanus sought a different explanation for Drusus’ lack of information regarding Agrippina.

“Perhaps the Imperial Prince has taken his father’s directive regarding utterances too literally and has ignored her poisonous speech,” he conjectured. “Or more likely she just keeps her tongue in check when in his presence.” Tiberius frowned in contemplation and shrugged.

“Well if that little bitch or her friends do overextend their forked tongues, I would like to know about it.”

“You will,” Sejanus replied, beaming inside, “you have my word, Caesar.”

One afternoon following their workouts, Artorius decided to see what else the gymnasium had to offer. He strolled into one of the back rooms, where what sounded like men grunting and striking each other could be heard. He looked inside and saw what he thought was a boxing match. Two men were squaring off, throwing jabs at each other. Artorius was surprised to see one man throw a side kick to his opponent’s body. At that instant the other grabbed the leg with his outside arm and lunged in to take out the kicker’s other leg. The men were now on the ground in what had morphed into a wrestling match. Artorius was then shocked to witness the man on top smashing his elbow into the other man’s face and head. He then spun around and grabbed his opponent’s ankle. The combatant on the bottom immediately started yelling in pain and slapping the mat with his hand as fast as he could. He was quickly let go of, and his adversary then helped him to his feet.

“Well done,” a voice said from just off the mats. Artorius looked over to see a lean and well-muscled Greek wearing nothing but a loin cloth, his hands clasped behind his back. A number of other men stood on either side of him, most sweating profusely, with more than a few scrapes and bruises amongst them. Artorius was surprised to see Camillus, sporting a rather nasty-looking black eye.