Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (5 page)

Though Artorius and Magnus had debated at length on many nights over his actions during the battle, Artorius did not feel like arguing with his friend at the moment.
Many had spoken highly of his century’s actions in standing their ground against overwhelming odds, and yet not once had he ever felt like his actions were in any way heroic.

“Braduhenna was a giant blemish to the entire Rhine Army,” Artorius remarked.
“Not to mention there was still residual bad blood from Senator Gallus and his friends, who would have caught word of my being promoted to centurion pilus prior.”

Artorius had risen through the ranks very quickly, achieving the rank of
centurion in only ten years. This had required a special dispensation, as he had at the time been three years shy of the minimum age requirement of thirty. His reputation among both his peers and subordinates was one of admiration and mutual respect. Though Artorius was immensely strong and a great close-combat fighter, he never tried to win battles alone. He gave respect to his subordinates and understood that in battle he was but one among many.

His years under the
eagle had not been without blemish. Just prior to his promotion he had been court-martialed on the charge of murdering his centurion, a vile and abusive man named Fulvius. Though he was acquitted when it was revealed that the centurion in question had been drunk and assaulted Artorius, along with another soldier, the stigma still carried with him. Some of the men, when talking about usurpers overthrowing kings, would refer to it as
‘the Artorian method of promotion’
. Such talk was never spoken in his presence or in front of any officers who could be counted among Artorius’ friends. But like any other foul rumor or insidious talk it spread quickly, and it seemed every soldier within both legions stationed in Cologne had heard or used the term.

That soldiers would jest about such grave matters was accepted as a matter of course.
Fighting men have always shared a rather dark sense of humor that more sane people would find perverse and socially unacceptable. For legionaries, it was simply what one did. Still, there had been an even higher price to Artorius than just a few cruel jests; the centurion he had killed had powerful friends, including a few in the senate. Since he had not been convicted of a crime, their influence had determined that at the very least he would stay where he was. In effect, his career was over just as he was on the rise. In the minds of his peers, Artorius should have been one of the strongest candidates for command of the reconstituted Fourth Cohort following the Battle of Braduhenna. As it was, he was not given any consideration and a ranking centurion from Hispania had been given the promotion.

“Well
, it looks like your own friends have come through for you,” Magnus observed. “You are fortunate to have a lifelong friendship with Pontius Pilate given his close rapport with the emperor’s right hand.”

“Sejanus,” Artorius mutte
red. “I despise that man.”

“What do you care?” Magnus retorted.

“You’ve never met him,” Artorius explained. “I have. At Pontius Pilate’s wedding back in Rome, while you were getting piss drunk with the lads, I had to step in and prevent a brawl between Sejanus and Justus Longinus. Were Pilate not Justus’ friend, it could have ended very badly. Pilate not only saved Justus’ career, but possibly his life. The praetorian prefect is not one to let a grudge go easily, and most of his enemies meet an ignominious end.”

“I heard about that,” Magnus remarked. “Still, whatever his personal issues are with Justus, that doesn’t mean you cannot use Pilate’s sway with Sejanus to your advantage. I know you loathe politics, which I have always felt has come as a detriment to your career.
”

“I’ve never used patronage to further my career,
you know that,” Artorius scoffed. “I have always stood on my own merits, nothing more.”

His friend shrugged.
“That’s all well and good,” Magnus agreed. “However, you know as well as I that ability only gets one so far in the legions. Whether we like it or not, politics and patronage will always trump leadership ability. You cannot change that, so you’d best embrace it.”

It was not the answer Pilate was looking for, but it had to suffice.
Lamia, the absentee-governor of Syria, had the only legionary forces in the region, yet none of his deputies had so much as paid a visit to Judea since Pilate took office. The pressure was enormous, as Judea was one of the most volatile provinces in the entire Empire. The letter from Sejanus alleviated his constant strain, if only slightly. It would have been simplest for the Emperor to have ordered the Twelfth Legion to detach one of its cohorts as a vexilation in Judea. As it was, they had all clamored so strongly against allowing Pilate any authority over their soldiers that a compromise was reached in that the legionary cohort would be a separate entity from the legions, holding an independent command in Judea.

It would still be at least a couple
of months, if not longer, before the soldiers from the western part of the Empire arrived. Lamia and the other legates in the Far East and North Africa had only allowed a minimal number of volunteers from their ranks to join the Judean cohort, and even then it had been very reluctantly. A dispatch from Lamia’s chief tribune bordered on outright hostility as he made it clear that the only reason he was giving Pilate any legionaries at all was because the order had come from Sejanus, and therefore from the emperor.

The one letter he’d rece
ived that he got any pleasure in reading came from his old friend and brother-in-law, Artorius. It was very short and to the point as Pilate read the words aloud:

Hail Pontius Pilate!

You will be pleased to know that I am rallying volunteers from the Rhine Legions. Once assembled, we will head to Rome posthaste and then set sail for Judea.

T. Artorius Justus

Centurion Pilus Prior

“Never one to mince words, was he?” Claudia asked as she stepped into her husband’s study.

Pilate looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and gave a tired smile. Though his hairline had started to
recede at a young age, in the five years since they came to Judea he’d gone almost completely bald. He swore it was hereditary, but Claudia blamed it on the strain of work. Though now only in his late thirties, there was no mistaking that what hair Pilate did have was almost completely gray.

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

***

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

“Stand easy,” Artori
us 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 we
ren’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.

“No
w 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 sup
per 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.”