Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (16 page)

Suddenly Artorius no longer felt any of the e
ffects of his previous imbibing, his mind clearing in an instant.

“So refuse to sign his endorsement to join the legions,” Artorius offered. “After all, one must have proof of citizenship…”

“Spare me the technicalities,” Justus growled. “I know how it works, and trust me, my wife has asked me to do the same thing. I also know that I would only delay the inevitable. Every recruiting officer in the entire eastern region of the Empire knows that Gaius is my son. Once he’s of age they can enlist him with or without my approval. Besides, it is his life to live, though I wish he was not so damn adamant about following me into the ranks. I didn’t spend a fortune on his education so that he could stab barbarians for a living!”

“Fuck the auspices,” Artorius retorted.

Justus looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m serious! We make our own path in life, Justus. Our fates are not ruled by the flight of a gods’ damned bird or by what color their bloody entrails are. For being such an advanced and learned society, Rome has some truly
backward traditions. I mean, seriously, since when do educated men believe disemboweling a peacock will somehow win favor with the gods? Only a fucking moron believes they can tell the future from a swallow’s liver.”

“My wife believes it,” Justus replied quietly.

Artorius smacked himself on the forehead.

“Damn it, that’s twice in one hour that I’ve insulted your wife.”

“No offense taken,” his friend replied, shaking his head. “And besides, I don’t believe much in omens either. If I believe it at all, it’s because Flavia believes. Her devout faith in the gods is what sustains mine. I suppose she feels that she has to have enough faith for both of us.”

“Faith that your son will die before he’s twenty,” Artorius thought aloud. He closed his eyes, expecting a sharp rebuke from Justus.

“Do you even believe in the gods?” Justus asked after a short pause.

Artorius shrugged his shoulders.

“I believe in
something
,” he emphasized. He almost let slip about his encounter with his brother’s soul, but stopped himself short. He was suddenly grateful he had at least sobered up partially. Surely Justus would have thought him mad were he to tell him about seeing and speaking with Metellus.

“I believe something created us,” he continued. “Whether it was one god or many, I have no idea. What I do know is we did not just appear out of nowhere. I think man makes the gods look like us so we can relate to them, so that in our arrogance we can say we are made in their image. What I don’t believe is that we can determine the will of any such deities based on slashing the throat of a bull or gutting a bird.”

“That’s why I’ve always liked you, Artorius,” Justus said, looking his way and forcing a smile. “You never hold back and are not one to mince words.”

“Hence
, why I would be a lousy politician,” Artorius replied, getting a short laugh out of his friend.

Justus took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief.

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you,” the red-haired Centurion said. “You’ve grown stronger in both mind and body.”

Artorius’ face gave an involuntary twitch as Justus had unknowingly
repeated the last words of advice his brother had given him while he was alive. Justus did not notice, and instead gave Artorius a friendly smack on the shoulder.

“Come!” he said. “Let us return to the celebrations!”

As they made their way back towards the raucous sounds coming from within the house, they saw a man leaning over the large fountain by the main entrance, dry heaving like he was about to throw up. Upon closer examination they recognized him as one of the Praetorian Tribunes.

“Hmm, seems the Emperor’s bodyguards can’t hold their
drink,” Artorius laughed as the man heaved again.

“Hey
, not in the fountain, you Praetorian twat!” Justus shouted as he walked over and gave the Tribune a hard kick to the backside.

It wasn’t every day one had the opportunity to commit assault on a superior officer, especially one of the “elite” Praetorians, and get away with it. Artorius walked over and grabbed the Tribune by
the neck of his tunic and guided him towards some bushes. The dry heaving was soon followed by the splash of half digested wine, ale, and stomach acid all mixed together in a noxious combination.

“Good gods, what did that man eat?” Justus
snorted, his senses assailed by the stench.

“Well
, at least there’s no chunks,” Artorius observed.

“What’s he been drinking then, ram’s piss?” Justus was disgusted, yet at the same time starting to
chuckle. “Seriously, it smells like…”

“…like a bitter, sour ass!” Artorius finished for him,
leading both men to laughing uproariously.

They
left the Tribune to his misery as a pair of slaves stood off to the side, waiting to offer assistance, though unable to hide the disgust on their own faces at the stench. The two Centurions then walked towards the house with an arm around each other’s shoulders, debating over how either knew what ram’s piss and a sour ass smelled or tasted like.

“You should have just let him spew in the fountain,” Artorius said as they walked into the foyer.

“Well, this place does belong to your father-in-law…” Justus began to say.

“Who’s a royal asshole,” Artorius finished. He then briefly told Justus about the d
ispute they had with Claudia and Diana’s father over the presence of legionaries within his banquet hall.

Justus was feeling the effects of drink as he stared unrelentingly at Sejanus. The Praetorian Prefect pretended not to notice. It would be reasonable to think that he did not, given the large numbers of people and the amount of commotion within the hall. It was only when Sejanus got up from his couch and left that Justus looked down and started eating once more. Flavia sat nervously by her husband, clutching his forearm the entire time.

“No love lost between you two then,” Artorius s
tated, trying to break the ice. Between all the lamp flames and the plethora of human bodies the room was stifling, yet he felt a cold chill running down his back.

“That man is a menace to Rome,” Justus growled, taking another pull off his wine.

“Be easy, love,” Flavia said quietly, “the wrong ears may hear your words.”

“Oh
, yes, I quite forgot that defaming the commander of the fucking bodyguards now constitutes treason!” Justus said in a louder voice, although no one else seemed to hear him besides Flavia, Artorius, and Diana.

“What are you talking about?” Artorius asked, suddenly interested.

Diana elbowed him hard, not wanting him to encourage Justus any more. It was already too late.

“Just that free speech is not what it once was,” Justus continued. “Make no mistake, I am no republican; however, one has to admit that during the Republic one could be far more relaxed with one’s tongue than you can today. Take for example poor
Senator Cremutius Cordus…”

“A man whose words incited sedition and treason!” Sejanus’ voice sounded behind them.

Thankfully, no one else was paying them any mind, though Flavia’s face darkened, and she lowered her head while closing her eyes. Justus only grinned thinly, his eyes shining with hatred for Sejanus. In spite of Artorius shaking his head, he turned and stood face-to-face with the Praetorian Prefect. Sejanus stood about half a head taller than the Centurion, though both men were of equal muscular size. The Prefect appeared to be impressed that Justus was not intimidated by him.

“Cordus wrote a bloody history book,” Justus retorted. “Where was the harm in that?”

“The harm,” Sejanus said; his tone like one would use on an ignorant schoolboy, “was that he dared to eulogize the murderers of the Divine Julius Caesar
as the last of the Romans
.”

“A stupid one-line eulogy in the entire text
,” Justus retorted. “And you accused him of treason for that! The poor bastard starved himself to death, and you burned his writings as if he were inciting a rebellion against our beloved Emperor!”

Across the banquet hall Pontius Pilate saw the dispute going on. His eyes grew wide
with anxiety, and he attempted to work his way through the celebrating throngs of people lest Justus get himself into greater trouble.

“The treason laws of Augustus have been re-enacted to protect the Emperor…”

“Who in his own words stated,
in a free state there should be freedom of speech and thought
,”

Justus interrupted with a sneer. “Those were the words of Emperor Tiberius Claudius Nero himself. Do you deny it?”

Before Sejanus could answer, Pilate forced his way between the men.

“I think we’ve all had a little
too much to drink and are letting our tongues get the best of us,” he said quickly. The Praetorian Prefect turned his nose up slightly at Justus.

“Yes, this upstart of a
Centurion would certainly not be so loose with his words in the presence of his betters were he sober,” he said icily. “You’re drunk, so I will let your…
indiscretions
go.”

“Fuck you, Sejanus,” Justus retorted, causing his wife to gasp and Artorius to grab him from behind by both shoulders.

“Easy there, old friend,” he said quietly into his ear.

Sejanus shoved Pilate aside and stood nose-to-nose with the
Centurion. Again he could not help but ruefully admire that Justus still wasn’t backing down.

“Think yourself lucky that you’re a friend of Pontius Pilate’s,” he said quietly. He then stepped back and in a louder voice stated, “Tho
ugh I do now question what kind of people my deputy calls his friends.” He then walked slowly away, as Pilate guided him by the shoulder.

Flavia’s hand was over her mouth in shock, and Artorius let out a relieved sigh
as Justus grinned in triumph. Diana laid her head on her husband’s shoulder, wine and a sense of relief making her suddenly tired.

“You have to admit, that took
some Herculanian-sized balls,” Magnus observed as he casually walked over to the group, a wine cup in hand. He appeared to be more sober than anyone else in the room.

“Magnus, what are you doing here?” Artorius asked, suddenly remembering
Proculeius’ directive that anyone below the rank of Centurion was prohibited from dining in the banquet hall.

“Oh
, come on,” the Norseman said, looking around. “Everyone here is completely wasted; no one will even know I was here. Besides, we’re running out of alcohol in the kitchens, and the slaves won’t give us the keys to the cellar where I know all the good stuff is.”

“So?” Artorius questioned.

“So, either I find a key from someone or else the boys are going to use one of the tables as a battering ram on the cellar door. I would rather they didn’t, lest we mere plebeians wear out our welcome with the great Proculeius…no offence intended, my lady.”

“Mmm, none taken,” Diana replied, her eyes still closed and arms wrapped around Artorius’ left arm.

The Centurion was suddenly aware once more of the party going on around them. So intent had they all been on watching Justus’ exchange with Sejanus that he had failed to notice the hundred or so boisterous souls drinking and shouting to make themselves heard in Proculeius’ hall. All looked to be completely intoxicated, and many were passed out on their couches or on the floor. Wine goblets and food trays littered the ground as servants worked frantically to try to keep up with the ever growing mess. Across the hall, next to where Pilate’s couch sat, was Proculeius, his butt and legs still on the couch, though the rest of his body was on the floor where his arms were splayed out to his sides.

“I’ve got an idea,” Artorius said with a grin.

He then handed his wife over to Flavia, who guided her onto a couch. Justus had sat back down and was eating and drinking as if nothing had happened.

“Please forgive my friend, he meant no harm,” Pilate pleaded once he and Sejanus were alone.

“I’ve never known a man to use the words
fuck you
and not mean any harm,” Sejanus replied coldly. Pilate swallowed hard but then decided to take a chance. After all, he should be the last person who needed to be afraid of Sejanus.

“Justus did have a point,” he observed.
He started to explain quickly as his superior raised an eyebrow at the statement. “After all, his quote of the Emperor was exact. Besides, he’s nothing more than a Centurion from the east.”

“I remember him,” Sejanus said, his voice still cool
, though not with the venom it once held. “He was but a mere Optio when last in Rome; sent here to spy on us for the nosy Legates of the east who can’t seem to handle their own affairs, yet they feel the need to stick their dripping noses into the Emperor’s. Tiberius was correct to recall that nuisance Lamia and make him absentee governor from Rome. You’re right, of course. Your friend is harmless enough, as long as he’s in the east. See to it that he stays there.” His face was close to Pilate’s as he spoke his last words.