Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (12 page)

“Ah
, yes, your husband.” Alaric cursed himself for being unable to hide his gloomy feelings at the mentioning of Venutius.

“My dear Alaric,” Cartimandua consoled, sensing the hurt tone in his voice, “I have always known your feelings for me. Ever since the day you and your mother came to our shores, I have always viewed you as a younger sibling. As we grew older, I knew your feelings were different than mine for you.”

“I also knew that it could never be,” he confessed, his face turning red and eyes downcast. “You were the daughter of a king, and I nothing more than a refugee from a defeated Germanic tribe.”

“You are right; it can never be between us. But know that I do cherish your love for me, for it is something that is otherwise unknown in my life. Make no mistake about my husband. Ours is a political alliance, meant to keep the various factions within the kingdom united. The issue with us being so large is that our diversity is both strength and a weakness. There has never been love between us, and Venutius has not shared my bed in years. I also know that he will be easily swayed by Caratacus, as well as those tribal leaders who would oppose the Romans.”

“And what of you?” Alaric asked once more. “You have not answered my question. You told me once, many years ago, that you would welcome their presence in our lands. Do you still feel that way, now that they may be on our doorstep?”

“Britannia is not a unified nation,” Cartimandua continued to explain. “I suspect that even in a thousand years the various tribal kingdoms will still be in constant conflict with each other. Were they united, perhaps the Romans would think twi
ce about launching an invasion. As it is, the Atrebates going to Rome will give their emperor all the justification he needs to invade. And with the kingdoms of this isle divided, the legions will simply roll right over each one in turn. Those who align themselves with Rome will be welcomed as friends and assimilated into the empire. Those who oppose them will face annihilation. Your people learned the harshest of lessons; that the Roman Army unleashed is virtually unstoppable. I will not allow my people to share their fate.”

It pained Alaric to hear Cartimandua talk so. Was it cowardice or prudence that guided her? The truth was, most people in the world wanted nothing more than to be left to lead their lives in peace. Whether their taxes went to a local king or a foreign emperor, they cared little. He stated this to the queen.

“That may be true,” she concurred. “However, the average peasant is also not a free-thinker. They are easily swayed by strong leaders. Doubtless a number of our nobles will wish to join Caratacus and his brother, Togodumnus, who propose to lead the resistance. I intend to keep Brigantes neutral for the time being, and I will need every friend I can muster if I am to keep my nobles in line. I also will need eyes everywhere, and I understand you need work.”

The abrupt change of topic startled Alaric
, and he stumbled upon his words as he tried to reply. “Y…yes. I mean, I have done the occasional carpentry task, as well as helping those who may need extra labor in their fields, but nothing permanent.”

“A common laborer is no place for my dear brother,” Cartimandua asserted as she turned to face him. “I
’m offering you a place amongst my personal guard. If you still love me, you will accept.”

It put him on the spot, though both knew there was only one answer he could possibly give.

“Honored, my queen.” Alaric took her hand and kissed the back of it before bowing.

“Can you ride a horse?” the queen asked.

“Not very well,” Alaric admitted.

“You will learn. You have some skill with a blade, and any other proficiency can be learned. What is not learned is loyalty, and that is the quality I need most. My guard is not just to protect my person, but to be my eyes and ears throughout the kingdom. Report to Landon, he will see to your equipment and start your training. I am glad to have you with me, Alaric. Perhaps your return was the gods’ way of sending me a protector.”

“Perhaps,” he replied with a smile.

The trek to Cologne had taken more than a month
, with Artorius and Diana traveling first by ship to Massilia in southern Gaul, then by road north through Lugdunum. Upon reaching a merchant port along the River Rhine, just north of the Alpes, Artorius had arranged for their baggage, along with most of their servants, to be transported by river barge all the way up to Cologne. He and Diana, along with her maidservant, his manservant, Nathaniel, and their freedman, Proximo, would finish the journey by road. Artorius, Diana, and Proximo would ride their horses, the other servants confined to walking. Proximo was now in his early sixties, and ever since being given his freedom by Diana, he’d saved his coin and purchased himself a fine Arabian charger. Though he still worked just as vigilantly as he had before, given his age, Artorius and Diana were glad he was able to ride. They continued through Gaul and into Germania, stopping each night at roadside inns or whatever towns and cities their path took them through.

At last
, after weeks of riding and what must have been a thousand miles on the road, the enormous fortress came into view. They rode out of a grove of trees along the road that served as the main artery between the northern empire and Italia. They had essentially retraced their steps from when they had left the Rhine on their journey to Judea.  The ever-growing city of Cologne had sprung up in the fortress’ wake decades earlier and ran right up to the edge of the River Rhine.

“It would not surprise me if the city spans both sides of the rive
r in years to come,” Diana said with a grin.

“If that happens, we may actually bring civilization to the
barbarians,” her husband noted, referring to the untamed lands just across the river, populated by warlike tribes who shared an extremely violent history with Rome.

A
Roman fortress was a sight to behold, and the one at Cologne was even more impressive as it housed two legions instead of the usual one. Its walls stood approximately fifteen feet high and were manned by the occasional sentry, as well as scorpion ballistae every few dozen meters. Running along the outside length of the wall was a wide ditch filled with sharp stakes and various entanglements. It was all for show, however, as the Romans were not of a defensive mindset. Even if assailed by the largest of enemy armies that had them substantially outnumbered, the legionaries would spill forth and brazenly meet their foe head-on. It was this guile and aggressiveness that unnerved their adversaries far more than the defensive walls of the fortress.

The gatehouse was very large, with double gates
that would allow passage of both men and wagons in both directions. Ever manned by a squad of legionaries, it was almost always left open, and only partially closed at night.

“This is where it all began,” Artorius said quietly
, taking a deep breath as they approached the gate.

“Ave, Master Centurion!”
a soldier on duty shouted, raising his pilum high in salute as Artorius and Diana rode through. It was surprising that though he traveled in civilian garb, the soldier had recognized him immediately. Artorius thought the man looked familiar and surmised that he may have been one of his legionaries long ago.

“Ten years
away, and they still recognize you,” Diana observed with a quiet laugh.

As they dismounted their horses, the decanus in charge of the gate approached the pair and saluted. Artorius returned the courtesy, realizing that this was the first salute he’d been given since he left Judea.

“Welcome home, Master Centurion Artorius,” the sergeant said. “Your presence is required by the commanding legate.”

“Understood,” Artorius replied. “Have a couple of men escort my wife and servants to our quarters.”

“Yes, sir.” The decanus then shouted some orders to a runner, who made his way over to the nearest barracks.

“Time to report for duty
, master centurion
,” Diana smiled as she kissed her husband on the cheek.

Artorius left his horse with her and slowly made his way through the fortress towards the Principia, taking in the sights of the ever-hectic daily life of the legions. In some ways it felt like
, though he’d been away for a decade, he’d never really left. Out of curiosity, he strolled past the barracks of his former unit, the Third Cohort’s Second Century. Coincidentally, they were assembled in full armor and kit, making ready for a road march that each unit made three times a month. Artorius frowned slightly when he did not recognize either the centurion or optio. He did note a few familiar faces amongst the older decanii and legionaries, who in turn shot him a knowing glance, but that was it. The century he had spent sixteen years with was completely foreign to him now. And yet, there was still a sense of familiarity about it.

“The names will change, but the faces remain the same,” he reasoned as he continued on his way.
Though he longed to reunite with his old friends who he knew he would find in the first cohort, he had other matters to attend to first.

“Artorius!”

The shout startled him and he turned about to see the first truly familiar face since his arrival. His face broke into a broad gr
in as the man who called his name walked quickly towards him.

“By Juno…Valens!” he said, forgetting his task for a moment and walking back to embrace the man he’d served with for decades and who’d been his optio in Judea. He then noticed
that his friend who, though in his tunic, wore his gladius on his left hip instead of his right, and he carried a vine stick. “Well, I’ll be buggered. They made you a centurion!”

“It came as a bit of a shock to me as well,” Valens said with a nonchalant shrug.
“Wasn’t the easiest thing, coming back after we’d been gone for a number of years. Because they promised I’d keep my rank, I slid into a vacant optio position that did not make the unit’s centurion, or the fellow he was going to promote, happy.”

“And how did you handle that?” Artorius asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Same way I always do,” Valens replied. “I got them both piss drunk and arranged for some suitable ‘entertainment’. One’s a lot less likely to hold a grudge after having their cock drained a few times.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Artorius chuckled, shaking his head. He then asked, “Where are you assigned now?”

“Fifth Cohort, same as Metellus. I have the Second Century, he has the Fourth. Tyranus, the centurion who replaced you when we left here, is our pilus prior. A solid officer, that one; I would like to have worked with him in our younger days. As far as cohort commanders go, I’d say he’s better than Dominus, though not quite as good as Vitruvius or Proculus were.”

“And where does he rate compared to me?” Artorius asked, folding his arms.

“That I’ll never say,” Valens replied with a wink. “One answer would insult you, and the other would be a false, flattering ass kissing. And you, sir, will get neither from me. But no matter; it is good to see you again.” He then extended his hand, which Artorius readily accepted.

It was midmorning by the time
he walked up the short flight of steps that led into the principia; the rather ostentatious and ornate building, decorated with columns, statues, and frescos along the walls that served as the legion’s headquarters. His hobnailed sandals clicked on the polished stone floor as he made his way through the main foyer to where the legate’s office was. He would have his own office here as well, for his duties would extend to the entire legion, not just the first cohort. Seated behind a desk outside the legate’s office was the another welcome sight, and it caused Artorius to burst into laughter.

“Camillus!” he said boisterously, causing the man to bolt upright. One time the signifier for Artorius’ century, he had been the legion’s aquilifer for at least a decade. In addition to being in charge of all the legion’s finances, he also carried its sacred eagle standard into battle.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Camillus chuckled as he stood from his desk and extended a hand to his old friend. “Come back to us after cavorting in the east, finally!”

“I thought you would have left the legions years ago,” Artorius conjectured.

He noted that Camillus, who was a few years older than he, had traces of grey just beginning to show in his close-cropped hair. And yet, his face still maintained much of its boyishness that made it impossible for anyone to guess his age.