Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (17 page)

“It’ll do,” the centurion replied. He set his helmet onto the desk and then turned to his optio. “Here, help me out of this.”

“All these years, I’ll bet you’ve been wanting to ask me to undress you,” Valens replied, breaking into a fit of laughter.

“Quit being a smartass,” Artorius retorted. “You know I can’t reach the buckle on this damn harness.”

Valens complied and unhooked the harness that Artorius wore his phalerae and other decorations, though he would not stop giggling.

“Normally, Nathaniel would help me out of my kit, but he’s gods only know where between here and Massilia. And since Diana stayed in Caesarea, she’s not available at the moment.”

“All the lads pair up and help each other,” Valens observed. “Doesn’t make it any less amusing for me.”

“Valens, everything is amusing to you,” Artorius grumbled as he tossed the harness onto his bunk. He pulled off his hamata chain mail and laid it out on the bed before putting his centurion’s belt back on. “My battle armor is with the baggage train, so I hope we don’t have anything serious happen before then.”

“You’re one of the only
centurions I know of in the entire army that still wears a legionary’s segmentata,” Valens observed.

“It provides better protection.” Artorius pointed to his side in emphasis, where Valens remembered he had a fearful scar from where his hamata had failed to withstand the repeated blows of an e
nemy swordsman. He then gave the optio his orders for the remainder of the day. “Have the men bathe, clean and inspect their weapons and kit, and let them know there will be a full inspection in the morning. Centurions and options will be doing most of the actual scrutiny of the auxiliaries, so we need the other principal officers and decanii to step up and oversee the daily drill and training of our men.”

Artorius
spent most of the following morning sifting through the records for the Jerusalem garrison. Despite his humble quarters, there was a sizeable administrative area for him to work in at the end of the floor. The large desk he sat at was piled with documents with many more strewn about the tiled floor. When he summoned his centurions and options he was not in the fairest of tempers. Whatever their personal feelings, the truth was they needed the auxiliaries and, therefore, the task now fell upon them to restore discipline into their ranks.

“The condition of the
garrison is deplorable,” Artorius stated. “Numerous disciplinary problems and I suspect that what is documented is only a fraction of what actually goes on. There are frequent complaints, as well, from the civilian populace regarding excessive use of force, to include the last incident where several dozen unarmed protestors were killed when the auxiliaries disobeyed Pilate’s expressed orders and fell upon them with their swords instead of clubs.”

“The issue here is not just that the auxiliaries lack discipline,” Cornelius explained. “Since Jews view it damned near sacrilegious to work for the Roman government, we have been unable to find sufficient volunteers to fill the ranks. Therefore
, most of the auxiliaries we get are Samaritans.”

“What provokes the issue is Samaritans and Jews hate each other,”
Julius added. “There is bad blood between them that goes back centuries. Honestly, no one knows where it all started, but that hatred is ingrained into both races as soon as they are born. The Jews resent that Rome enlists Samaritans to lord over them, yet they will not volunteer to fill the ranks themselves. And let’s be honest, the Samaritans love us about as much as they love the Jews.”

“This is true,” Cornelius concurred. “The Samaritans who enlist into the auxilia are not the brightest prospects from their people. In fact, I would hazard that they are the scum of society who often join the ranks in order to avoid going to prison for various petty crimes.”

“You’re more right than you know,” Artorius said, tossing a scroll across the table. “Petty theft is one of the most common offenses in the disciplinary reports. These bastards are constantly stealing from each other when not extorting from the locals.”

“What bothers me,” Magnus remarked as he looked over the repor
t, “Is that a legionary can be strangled or bludgeoned to death if he steals from his comrades. Auxiliaries fall under the same laws as our men, yet their crimes go mostly unpunished.”

“Then it is time the laws were enforced once more,” Artorius emphasized as he stood from the table. “We have a daunting task ahead of us. We must immediately restore good order and discipline in a place where it has probably never existed.
We must be harsh but fair in our dealings with these Samaritans. And above all, we must set the proper example. Make certain our legionaries know that their conduct will be under the sharpest scrutiny. In fact, as long as we’re in Jerusalem I want them to confine most of their leisure activities to the area around the fortress. They can cavort again after we return to Caesarea, but for the time being I need their highest discipline on display. Understand that there will be those amongst the auxiliaries that will not conform, no matter how much we try and instill order into them. These we will have to break and dispose of. I would rather have a dozen well-trained soldiers than a thousand mindless brigands.”

“What are you proposing we do?” Valens asked, showing his rare serious demeanor. Though the
optio spent most of his time living a life that was debauched even by Roman standards, he was still a solid officer and one of the most reliable soldiers Artorius had ever served with.

“For the rest of this week we will inspect two cohorts each day,” Artorius answered. “Each
centurion and optio will inspect a century of auxiliaries. Tesserarii will accompany centurions and serve as their scribes; signifiers will go with the options. Split your centuries with half the men going with each group. They will assist as a visual example of what professional soldiers are expected to look like. Plus they can serve as enforcers should these Samaritans get a bit indignant with our establishing of standards. Make certain decanii do a full kit inspection on their men. They don’t have to have to be polished to parade standard, however, I want there to be no doubt that they and their equipment are battle ready.”

“Yes
, sir,” his officers all replied in unison.

After dismissing them, Artorius took some of the scrolls he’d been making notes on and left the room. As he walked along the open air corridor that ran along the drill field, he heard Abenader calling out to him.

“Centurion Artorius!”

He slowed his pace, although he did not stop or look back. He allowed Abenader to catch up to him before responding.

“You’re late,” Artorius retorted.

“If this is about the inspections my officers will be performing, I don’t want to hear about it
.” Abenader grabbed him by the shoulder and Artorius turned to face him, forcibly smacking the auxilia centurion’s hand away.

“Keep your hands off me!”

“Pilate may have brought you here,” Abenader barked, “but I don’t need your ‘help’!” It was clear that the man who commanded the Jerusalem garrison severely resented being undermined by an officer from the legions.

Artorius
surmised that Abenader was at least a dozen years older than him and viewed him as a young upstart. It was clear he’d been harboring his bitter feelings since long before Artorius and the Italic Cohort arrived in Judea, and he wasn’t about to relinquish control of his realm without a fight. It was a fight Artorius had hoped to put off until after he’d gotten a thorough inspection of the auxilia cohorts, but he knew he had no choice but to put his rival in his place. It was not turning into what he’d hoped for in a first meeting.

“You think I want to be here?” he growled, his face inches from Abenader’s.
“You may have more years under arms than me, but do not take me for some rookie upstart. I’d bet a year’s wages that I have far more time on a battle line than you!”

“I don’t give a vat of piss if you’ve
fought in a hundred battles and been awarded the grass crown by the emperor himself!” Abenader snapped back. “Jerusalem is my garrison!”

“You forget yourself,” he said, suddenly calm. “Legionary officers ar
e rated above auxiliaries, which makes me senior to you. Both of us answer to the procurator, so I cannot order you directly. That being said, your auxiliaries are little more than a reckless mob, and I am here to restore order and discipline. If you have any issues with that, take them up with Pilate.”

As he turned to walk away, Abenader grabbed him by the shoulder. Before the auxilia
centurion could react further, Artorius spun around and grabbed him by the neck, slamming him into the wall. Though Abenader was a few inches taller, Artorius was infinitely stronger, his gigantic forearm pulsing as he clutched the man’s throat.

“You lay a hand on me again, I’ll snap your fucking neck!” he growled into Abenader’s ear. He then promptly released his grip and Abenader gasped as his breath was restored.

He then took a more conciliatory tone.

“Look,
” he said, “We may not like each other, but know that I am not here to take command of the Jerusalem garrison. The sooner your auxiliaries start acting like professional soldiers, the sooner I will be gone.”

As Abenader stormed out, Artorius was left in an awkward position. His first meeting with the man who was his peer within the auxiliaries, and therefore h
is best hope for making the garrison into a reliable fighting force, had instead ended in a physical confrontation. He knew he had to take some of the blame for escalating the conflict. However, he was already so exasperated by what he saw he could not understand how any officer worthy of his position could allow such deplorable conditions to exist. And since there was no one they could replace Abenader with, he realized that whether he liked it or not, they would have to learn to work together. Pilate was buried under the arduous responsibilities of managing the province and had left the restoration of order within the Jerusalem garrison to him.

Chapter XVII:
Unworthy Allies

***

Artorius paced back and forth in front of the auxilia century, hands clasped behind his back, clutching his vine stick. They were mostly Samaritans and the stench alone told the
centurion that most had probably never properly bathed in their lives. None were properly shaved, their hamata armor in varying states of rust and disrepair. By contrast, the twenty or so legionaries behind Artorius looked immaculate; their armor polished, equipment fully serviceable, and all were bathed and shaved.

“These men look like shit,” the
centurion grunted to Abenader who swallowed hard in embarrassment.

“Yes
, but they do their job,” he replied.

Artorius snorted in disgust and walked over to an auxilia
decurion at the far left of the line.

“Weapon,” Artorius said, holding out his hand. The
decurion reluctantly drew his gladius and handed it to him. The blade was nicked and spotted with rust. Artorius sliced the blade hard over his hand, causing the men behind him to wince. He then held up his hand, which was uncut.

“You couldn’t cut butter with this, let alone kill a man!” he spat
. He then looked over his shoulder and pointed to one of the legionaries that were observing the spectacle.
“Legionary, post!”

The soldier quickly stepped over to his
centurion, who held out his hand. The legionary drew his gladius and handed it to him, pommel first.

Artorius held the weapon up.
“As you can see,” he noted, brushing his thumb along the cutting edge, “this weapon has a razor sharp blade. Though meant for stabbing, it will easily hack through limbs if need be.” He swung the gladius in a short slash for emphasis.

“The blade has been kept oiled and is free of rust,” he continued, the gladius gleaming in the sunlight. “Any nicks or burrs are worked out with a sharpening stone. This is what a serviceable weapon looks like.” He then handed it back to the legionary who snapped a quick salute and took his place back on the line.

“This, on the other hand,” he said, holding up the auxiliary’s rusted sword. “You could not cut through pig fat with this!”
He threw the gladius into the dirt.

He then eyed the fittings of the
decurion’s shoulder armor and saw that many were broken. He grabbed the shoulder pad and easily tore it away from the rest of his armor, nearly pulling the man over as he did so. “Your armor is useless!” he shouted into the man’s face. “You’re supposed to be their leader, yet what kind of example are you to the rest of these men?”

A stifled snicker alerted him and he quickly stepped over to where an auxiliary was doing little to conceal his amusement.

“You find this amusing?” he growled into the man’s face, almost gagging on the stench of his breath.

“Little,” the man muttered with a sarcastic sneer.

Artorius started to turn away, only to spin around and smash the Samaritan across the helm with his vine stick, sending him sprawling into the dirt, and his helmet tumbling off his head. The other men in the formation gasped while the on looking legionaries grinned as Artorius proceeded to beat the man savagely. The rusted chain mail would absorb much of the repeated blows, though the strikes to the exposed legs and shoulders left the semi-conscious man grimacing in pain. After more than a dozen blows he stopped, though his face was red, and he was snarling in anger.

“Get up!” Artorius barked, kicking the man hard on the backside.

The dazed auxiliary was helped up by a couple of his companions. He stood with his eyes glazed over and a trickle of blood running out of his mouth. The centurion paced back and forth for a minute, his face red and twisted into a scowl of rage. His clenched fists caused his enormous forearms to pulse.

“Anyone else?” he said after allowing himself a moment to calm down.

The assembled auxiliaries all bore looks of utter disbelief, and Artorius correctly assumed that none had ever been given even rudimentary training or discipline in their collective tenures.

When there were no further responses he continued.
“I didn’t think so. Throughout the empire, auxiliaries serve alongside legionaries in hopes of earning the right to become citizens themselves. It is a hard and dangerous life, but one of honor with great reward for those who complete their service to the emperor. Judea is one of the only provinces where auxiliaries have served autonomously from the legions. Your slovenly appearance and the complete disregard you have shown for the arms and armor given to you by the emperor’s good will demonstrates that not one of you holds a shred of discipline or self-respect. Centurion Abenader is your commanding officer; however, as long as I am in Jerusalem, all of you answer to me.”

He slapped his vine stick across his palm for emphasis. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Abenader
, though he remained silent. Artorius had to make certain that whatever their personal differences, he did not publicly undermine the auxiliary centurion or do anything to directly embarrass him in front of his men. For all they knew, the two were close colleagues who had full confidence in each other. Artorius quietly hoped for such a resolution once he broke these men down some and started to show Abenader and his officers how to rebuild them.

He walked back and forth in front of the men for another minute, letting his words sink in. At length he spoke again, pointing his vine stick at the
decurion.

“You are responsible for these men,” he stated. “Therefore it is your duty to see to it that the
y are inspection ready by tomorrow morning. If they are not, you will be stripped of your rank, and I will find a new decurion to lead them. All will be in fresh tunics, clean shaven, and washed. I will not have any of you smelling like you slept in a fucking pig sty! And if any man shows up with a dull, rusted weapon or his armor and kit are not fully serviceable, he will be fined a week’s pay!”

This was met with a loud grumbling from the ranks, and Artorius was surprised to hear Abenader quiet them.

“At fucking ease!”
the auxilia centurion barked.

Artorius nodded towards him approvingly, and
then looked over at the Samaritan who he had beaten for insubordination. The man’s face was red, and he was breathing quickly through his nose. All the men from this century looked in various states of shock and utterly appalled. As Artorius turned to walk away, the Samaritan drew his sword and rushed up behind him with it held high to strike.

“Sir!” one of the legionaries shouted, but Artorius already sensed what was coming. He spun around, dropped his vine stick and grabbed the man by the wrist and throat, tossing him through the air with superhuman strength. The Samaritan landed on his back with a loud crash, the air taken from his lung
, and his weapon flying from his hand. Artorius’ hand held his throat in a vice grip.

“Idiot!”
he shouted into the man’s face, his booming voice echoing across the courtyard. “If you’re going to condemn yourself to death for assaulting an officer, at least do it properly! You
stab
with the gladius!”

He looked up and saw some of the auxiliaries stirring and starting to move towards him. They were protesting rapidly in their own tongue, completely forgetting themselves as they watched their friend struggle in vain against the
centurion’s grip. Felix snapped his fingers and all the legionaries took a single step forward with hands on the pommels of their gladii. The tesserarius drew his weapon and stood between the auxiliaries and his commander.

“Anyone who makes another move will share this man’s fate!” he snapped.

The auxiliaries were immediately silent.

“Assault on an officer is punishable by death! The
procurator will decide his fate.” He then nodded to Artorius, who pulled the Samaritan to his feet, still grasping his throat.

“Take this piece of shit away,” he ordered as he shoved the man towards a pair of waiting legionaries. He then turned to Felix. “Draw up the charge sheets and have him brought before Pilate by this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir,” the tesserarius replied. He then signaled to the legionaries who drug the man away, thrashing and shouting at them in a language they did not know.

Artorius stepped forward and addressed the flabbergasted auxiliaries.
“You men have two choices,” he said, surprisingly calm. “You can either start acting like soldiers, for which you will be rewarded.”

He then nodded to where a group of legionaries had stripped the Samaritan out of his armor and were beating him with their fists until he ceased thrashing. They then drug him away.

“Or you can end up like him; a simple choice. Dismissed!” When the auxiliaries did not move he shouted at them once more,
“That means get the fuck out of my sight!”

The
decurion shouted some orders quickly and, attempting to make some sort of formation, they turned to their right and briskly left the field. Felix let out a sigh and a soft chuckle.

“That went a little rough,” he observed.

“Are you surprised?” Artorius asked, watching through the entranceway where the auxiliaries left. He could hear the occasional shout from their decurion.

“Not even a little bit,” Felix said with a snort.
“Though I have to admit I did not foresee one of them pulling a weapon on you.”

“Really? Because I did.”

Felix nodded in acknowledgment, then turned and dismissed the legionaries, many of whom were laughing amongst themselves and lamenting the pitiful state of the Samaritan auxiliaries.

“Worthless bastards,” one grunted as their
decanii marched them back to their barracks.

“All officers are
to dine with me this evening,” Artorius said to Felix. “I want to know how the rest of the inspections went.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Artorius made ready to leave he noticed Abenader, who had been watching the entire ordeal in appalled silence.

“Centurion Artorius, I must protest!” he said.
“That man…”

“What’s there to protest?” Artorius interrupted. “
He attacked me with a weapon and meant to kill me. You know what Roman law says regarding assault on an imperial officer. It would be no different if you were assailed by one of my men. I am sorry.”

Abenader simply nodded in understanding. It was still very awkward between the two
centurions, and there was little doubt that there would be numerous spats between them. Still, Artorius was glad to see that there was at least the beginning of some sense of understanding between them.
 

Twenty-four men gathered around two long tables in the hall Artorius procured well away from the fortress. Tesserarii, signifiers, options, and centurions of the cohort all gathered around. The hall belonged to a Jewish merchant, who loathed the idea of it being used by Roman officers, though he relented at the sight of a handful of silver coins.

“I sent out for your dinner,
as requested,” the owner said as he and his wife approached the table with a tray bearing pitchers of wine. “I’ve spoken with the local bakers and butchers. They have made the best efforts to prepare proper Roman food for you and your men.”

“Very good,” Artorius replied as t
he man poured him a cup of wine. He then addressed his assembled officers. “While we are in Jerusalem, we will mess together weekly. This will allow us to share any information gathered throughout the city with all senior leaders of the cohort.”

“The real issue we have is bettering the effectiveness of the auxiliaries,” Praxus spoke up. “The city is huge
, and they are few in number. Even if they were crack troops, which they most certainly are not, they would be hard-pressed to confront a major crisis.”

“Agreed,” Justus added. “That is why force alone will not be enough. We also
have to accept that we will never have the good will of the people, no matter what we do. I’ve been in the east most of my career, and yet Judeans are by far the most laborious to contend with. I think we would be better off expelling them from the empire.”

The owner of the hall had stepped out, and Artorius hoped he was out of earshot of Justus’ callous remark.
The men muttered a few words amongst themselves as servants entered the hall, carrying trays with various courses. As legionaries’ tastes were simpler than those of noble Romans, the fare was far more practical, consisting of soups, freshly baked bread, roasted vegetables, as well as lamb and beef. Artorius had relented to the requests of some of his officers and procured a course of dormice, even though he found the supposed delicacy repugnant.