Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (39 page)

“Lamia is stuck in Rome,” Claudia observed, “so what good can he do you?”

“He is still Governor of Syria,” Pilate sighed. “Yet Tiberius does not trust him and will not let him leave Rome, so he cannot even see firsthand what is happening here. He adamantly refuses to send me even a single cohort of legionaries to assist me.”

“Do you have any friends who could help?” his wife asked as she gently ran her fingers up and down his back.

Pilate nodded, though there was no optimism in his expression.

“The one man who would be willing to help is
, unfortunately, in no position to do so.”

“You mean Artorius,” Claudia observed
, after a seconds thought.

Pilate turned and looked his wife in the eye.

“You know what happened to him then?” he asked.

Claudia glanced at the floor and gave a sad nod.

“I received a letter from Diana,” she replied. “It came with the imperial post, which I suspect is how you heard.”

“Only the official reports which were scant at best. Sejanus added a few words, mentioning Artorius by name. No doubt he did this as a courtesy to me. After all, what does the whole of the Empire care about a thousand dead legionaries, as long as they won the battle?” There was bitterness in his voice and the expression on Claudia’s face told
him that she knew better than to pursue the issue further.

“What about Justus?” she asked after a minute’s pause. “He’s your friend
, too, and he is just over the border in Syria.”

Pilate gave a sad smile and shook his head.

“You forget his outburst at our prenuptial feast where he grossly insulted Sejanus,” he replied.

Claudia furrowed her brow.

“They had a spat,” she observed. “But they had both been drinking and it could not have been that bad.”

“When one says
‘fuck you’
to the Emperor’s right hand, it is usually not a good omen,” Pilate responded. “Justus is lucky to still hold his position as a Centurion in the Sixth Legion. Sejanus would have ruined him were he not my friend. No, though Justus would doubtless jump at the chance to help restore some dignity and order to this gods forsaken place, he has been relegated to obscurity.”

Claudia placed her head on her husband’s shoulder as they both gazed out the window and watched ships coming into the harbor in the distance.

The leaves were full of color and falling from the trees as a breeze took hold of them. Though Artorius hated winter and the cold weather, he loved this time of year when it was not so hot and the trees colorful. He and Diana walked along the riverbank, her hand in his. His physical wounds had mostly healed, though he knew the emotional ones would leave even deeper scars. The men he had lost were slowly being replaced, but they could never be replaced where it mattered most. It was not just soldiers under his command who had died, but also close friends. Decimus and Carbo had been with him since he first joined the legions thirteen years before. And Vitruvius, his dear friend and mentor, was gone.

Yet at the same time he felt revived, almost reborn now that he had a son. Agricola had taken the young legionary into his own First Century of the Sixth Cohort.

“Agricola tells me that Metellus has so far been a model legionary,” Artorius said as Diana laid her head on his shoulder, “admired by his friends, as well as his superiors.”

Metellus’ performance and conduct made Artorius especially proud, for he knew Agricola was a stickler for standards and at times a harsh disciplinarian. And far from showing any favors, Artorius knew the Pilus Prior would most likely expect Metellus to maintain an even higher standard of performance and conduct than his fellow legionaries.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Diana replied with a smile. Though she had not raised him or even known him for long, there was already a strong bond between them. “You know, he calls me
Mother
, even though I told him it was not necessary.”

This made Artorius smile in turn.

“I know I can never replace Rowana, who gave him birth and raised him.”

“And yet he still feels the same type of bond with you that he had with her,” Artorius replied. “I know this, because he told me.”

Diana gave his hand a squeeze as they continued to walk. Their strolls together in the evenings brought him a sense of peace, in what was otherwise his chaotic life. Before her return, Artorius’ life had been chaotic at best; quite the paradox given the order and discipline in the life of a Centurion of Rome.

Chapter XXVIII: Valeria’s Rebirth

***

The month that followed his adoption of Metellus had been extremely hectic for Artorius. Another dozen of his men had reported back to the Century, though most would be on light duty for at least a month or so. Only a handful more were expected to return at all, the rest were still awaiting medical discharge. It broke the Centurion’s heart to see his men, who had fought with extreme valor, now cast aside since they were of no use to the legions anymore. Even when the last returned, that would only leave the Second Century with a total strength of forty-six men, to include Centurion Artorius and the Principal Officers; leaving them even more under strength than he had first envisioned. That left thirty-eight vacancies within the Century. Some of the barracks rooms were almost completely vacant. Two only had one soldier living in each of them. Artorius had filled all of the Decanus vacancies from within the ranks, but two of these men had no one to lead. He had gone ahead with the promotions, feeling that it made no sense to leave any leadership position vacant, and that even without a squad to lead, these soldiers who merited the promotion should at least be able to enjoy the extra pay and benefits.

There had also been much in the way of transitions within the Legion’s hierarchy.
What caused the greatest stirring was the announced retirement of Master Centurion Calvinus. Centurions Primus Ordo Aemilius and Draco had also submitted their requests for discharge and retirement. Privately, Diana’s cousin, Centurion Primus Ordo Proculus, had also expressed his desire to leave the legions within the next year or so. Artorius could not help but wonder if it was simply coincidence that all of these men were leaving, rather than attempting to replace Calvinus as the Legion’s Primus Pilus, or if there was something more to it. Certainly they were not young men anymore, and most of them had been wounded during the Battle of Braduhenna.

It came as no surprise to anyone then, that during the Council of
Centurions, Platorius Macro was selected by an almost unanimous vote to replace Calvinus as Master Centurion. Few of the cohort commanders even attempted to win the position. Most were now focused on attempting to win all of the Primus Ordo vacancies within the First Cohort. All Centurions were eligible for these positions, though Artorius knew he would not be considered. After all, it had taken a special dispensation that allowed him to be promoted to his current rank three years shy of the minimum age requirement. He had reached that age requirement in January, when he turned thirty, and he knew that his name would not even be mentioned in the consideration to fill the Primus Ordo vacancies. It suited him just fine. His heart was with the Second Century, and he knew there was much work to be done in order to heal the wounds of his men. In his mind, taking a promotion at this time would be tantamount to abandoning those who had fought by his side and given so much of themselves.

He had been right about the Primus Ordo positions. Legate Apronius, Master
Centurion Macro, and the Legion’s tribunes selected three senior-ranking Centurions to fill the positions. The only one whose name Artorius recognized was his son’s Cohort Commander, Centurion Agricola, who he always regarded with a high level of respect.

“All that and you can’t even get a Cohort Commander position out of it?” Magnus mused as he and Artorius discussed the volatile situation amongst the Centurionate, as they walked along the riverbank. Diana had taken it upon herself to send Nathaniel with a bottle of their best wine, which the two men shared as they sat down against a tree by the river. Artorius had decided he needed to get away from the Century’s offices and the mild fall breeze felt good coming off the water. The slave had returned to the manor house to procure more wine for the men.

“
Anxious to replace me, are you?” he retorted as he skipped a small stone across the river.

Magnus gave a snort.
“Not even a little bit,” he replied. “I’m quite comfortable watching you squirm under the burdens of responsibility.” Both men shared a laugh at his sarcasm. It felt good to Artorius to be able to laugh again, even briefly.

“
Centurion Artorius!”
The shout broke their banter up, and the Centurion sighed as he leaned back and raised his head to the sky. 

“Here,” he replied
.

The call had come from Dominus, who stumbled through the thicket next to the tree. “There you are! Ah, I see you’ve got Magnus with you
. Good.”

“You alright, sir?” Artorius asked, looking over his shoulder.

The Cohort Commander’s face was slightly flushed.

“I hope so. The Master
Centurion told me to come find both of you. He needs to see all three of us in his office, now.”

“Shit,” Artorius swore under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Magnus replied cheerfully. “Nathaniel knows if he cannot find us to take our refreshments to the Century’s office. We’ll knock back a few and toast either our good fate or bad fortune when we find out what Macro wants.”

It never ceased to amaze Artorius how his Nordic friend was always so calm no matter what the situation. He had no idea as to why Macro
would need to see both of them and their Cohort Commander. It did not bode well for him, especially given Dominus’ dishevelment.

“Enter!”
Macro’s voice boomed as soon as Artorius knocked.

The last time he had been in this office he had barged in on Master
Centurion Calvinus. He promised himself that he would behave with a little more decorum this time. This was his first dealing with Macro since he had become the Master Centurion, and it was hard to believe that Artorius had been his Optio in the Second Century a mere three years before.

The three men entered and stood with their hands clasped behind their backs as Macro stood behind his desk reviewing some
scrolls. As the light of the late afternoon sun shone through the parchment, Artorius was able to recognize that it was a roster of his Century.

“Stand easy, men,” Macro said as he turned and faced them. He then addressed Artorius. “Your Century suffered the highest percentage of casualties at Braduhenna.” There was an air of sadness on his face.

Artorius looked down for a second and tried to shake off the sudden bout of depression that struck him.

“So they tell me,
sir,” he replied stiffly.             

“I see that you have fewer men fit for duty on your roster than any other century within the legion,” Macro continued. “It is because of this that I have left your legionaries alone as we attempt to rebuild the Fourth Cohort.”

Artorius shuddered at the mentioning of the cursed cohort, and by the look on Macro’s face it seemed that Magnus and Dominus had the same reaction.

“Look, whether you think the Fourth was cursed or not,” the Master
Centurion remarked, correctly judging their feelings, “we cannot leave this legion minus an entire cohort. Now the recruit depots will be working overtime to send us replacements. However, I cannot have an entire cohort made up of rookies who don’t know their ass from their elbow. We’ve pulled experienced legionaries from most of the other cohorts, as well as promoted some of the Decanii. What we lack are candidates for Centurions. Rome is sending us two, one of whom is still an Optio, and therefore, will be brand new to the position. The First Legion is also sending us one of their experienced Options that is ready for promotion.

“The reason I brought the three of you here is because my next decision affects the Second Century, and as the Cohort Commander, Dominus needs to be kept informed. I said I was going to leave your legionaries alone, and this
is still true. However, as much as I hate to leave you further shorthanded, especially amongst your best leaders, we need all the experience we can get in the Fourth.” Macro’s eyes then fell on Magnus. “Therefore, I am promoting Tesserarius Magnus to the rank of Centurion.”

“Holy shit, I thought for a moment he was going to offer you the Pilus Prior of the Fourth!” Magnus said with a cheerful laugh as they left the Principia.

Dominus had left them, stating he had other business to attend to.

“Never happen,” Artorius replied with a shake of his head, his grin just as broad as his friend’s. “I’m proud of you, my friend. The way you handled yourself at Braduhenna, they would have been mad
not
to have offered you the Centurionate.”

“I did what I had to do,” Magnus replied, his composure suddenly dark and sober. Braduhenna w
ill always be a blackened scar on the souls of those who survived it.

“
Well, I’m glad to finally have you as my peer rather than my subordinate,” Artorius said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“That means a lot, Artorius,” Magnus replied with a friendly smile, “though for what it’s worth
, it has been an honor to serve under you. I hope I will be able to again someday.”

“Fat chance,” Artorius said.
“Two Pilus Prior positions opened in the Fourth and the Sixth, and I wasn’t exactly on the short list for either one of them.”

“The Sixth?” Magnus asked. “What happened to Agricola?”

“He was promoted to the First Cohort, which I am glad to see. Agricola is one of the better Cohort Commanders within the Legion.”

“Still, I cannot imagine why you aren’t even being considered for one of those positions,” Magnus persisted.

Artorius was grinning, though there was a trace of bitterness behind the smile.

“You forget how I came to the
Centurionate,” he responded. “My deceased predecessor still has powerful friends, to include several magistrates and even a couple of senators. One senator alone can stall my career indefinitely, no matter how much our Primus Pilus would like to mentor me for something higher.”

“Well
, that stinks of buzzard shit!” Magnus surmised.

Artorius shrugged
. “I was twenty-seven when I made Centurion, three years shy of the minimum age requirement. Whatever amount of political luck I may have had, it all got expended in one fell swoop. I dare say that if I retire at thirty-seven, or even forty-seven for that matter, I will still mostly likely remain the Centurion of the Third Cohort’s Second Century.”

“You sell yourself short,” the Nordic
Centurion-select chided. “I think you have more friends in the right places than you realize. You’re just too damned daft to recognize it or use them to your advantage! Besides, I intend to keep progressing through the ranks myself, but not ahead of you. I prefer to sit back and watch you stumble for a while, that way you can learn all the difficult lessons for me.”

As he returned to the Century’s billet, a somber, though much awaited sight greeted him. A large ox cart sat outside, and Artorius recognized the man who sat on the bench. He knew what was beneath the canvas tarp on the back of the cart.

“Centurion Artorius!” the man said boisterously. His demeanor changed when he saw the mournful look on the Centurion’s face.

“It is done, then?” Artorius asked.

The man nodded. “Exactly as you specified. I worked many long hours to get this to you in time. Luckily, I happened to have a sufficient slab of marble readily available and did not have to place an order with the quarries. Would have taken a month to get something like that delivered!”

“Wait here,” Artorius replied, his expression unchanged. He went inside and found a locked box that he kept in his quarters. Inside was a large sum of gold and silver coins, many of which had been donated by friends, though the majority was his own.
He walked outside and placed the box on the ox cart.

“As we agreed,” he explained, “half upfront and the other half upon delivery. Follow me and I will show you where it goes.”

He led the cart to just beyond the main gate, where a pair of legionaries stood, ever on guard duty. There was a small stream that ran alongside the fortress, and it was on a small hill near this, that Artorius had already selected. A rectangular hole had been dug to the measurements he had specified. As the cart came to a stop, he walked around behind it and lifted the tarp. Underneath were several slabs of ornate marble. They were slotted so that they would fit together into an altar that was almost the height of a grown man. Such a work of art had been extremely expensive, though Artorius did not care. He would have given his last denarius to see his fallen mentor properly honored. The altar would have a semi-enclosed box on top, where a bust of Centurion Vitruvius would be displayed. It was coming from a separate sculptor and had not yet arrived.

Artorius was explaining to
the stone carver and his slaves how the monument was to be arranged. Just below where the bust would be placed a small niche had been carved into the front slab. This is where he would place Vitruvius’ ashes.  The bronze tablet that would enclose the front of the space holding his ashes was already in his quarters.  On the tablet was inscribed:

Marcus Vitruvius

Centurion
Pilus Prior

Killed in Action, Age 41

XX Legion, III Cohort

Soldier of Rome