Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (8 page)

Severus clenched his fists at the name. Arminius had served under him as an auxiliary commander, and he regarded his treachery as a personal insult. As tired as he was, he knew in his heart nothing would please him more than having his final campaign be one of retribution, against one who had betrayed him so grievously. Such concepts gave him strength that he thought had faded a long time ago.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Tiberius returned the smile and nod. He pulled out a large map of the Gallic and Germanic provinces. Strategic positions, along with the placement of all eight legions were marked. He also produced a parchment with legion names and the names of their senior officers. “Here are the units you will be working with, along with their commanding legates.”

Severus noticed that space for the name of the
legate of the Twentieth Legion was left blank.

Tiberius was quick to explain. “Technically
, you will be the legate for the Twentieth. However, your primary duty will be to act as second-in-command of the entire army. In the event you two decide to separate your forces and act independently, you will take overall command of one of those elements.”

“That will mean leaving command of the Twentieth in the hands of the
chief tribune,” Severus observed. “It will take one hell of an officer. Who is it, by the way?” He knew that in accordance with Roman law and tradition, the chief tribune was usually a young senator with little to no actual experience.

Tiberius produced a document with the roster for the Twentieth Legion.
“Gaius Strabo is his name.”

“Strabo,” Severus said, “why does that name sound familiar to me?”

“His uncle, Seius Strabo, is Commander of the Praetorian Guard. I hand picked him. He’s a good young man, intelligent and level-headed, like his uncle. He seems to listen and is anxious to learn. You’ve also got a good master centurion to work with.”

“Who might that be?” Severus asked, glancing through the roster.

“Flavius Quietus,” Tiberius answered.

Severus laughed at the name. He had known Fl
avius back when he was a young Legionary, thirty years before. Even if Strabo proved not to be the competent officer Tiberius thought he was, Flavius would keep him in line. He also glanced at the names of all the legion commanders. Most of the names he recognized. He nodded his consent.

“I can work with this,” he said after reviewing everything. “One thing
, though. When this is over, I retire…for good this time.”

Primus was walking through the vineyards as he often did on days such as this. It was here that Artorius would find him.
It was amongst the vines that Primus and his sons had had many of their talks. He remembered back when Metellus had come to him, asking for the same letter of introduction that his younger
son would soon request. He would sign the letter, just as he had for Metellus. And they would make the same trip to the recruiting headquarters. From there his task as a father was done. He wondered if he would really be doing the right thing, sending his last son off to join the army, given his brother’s fate. He also thought back to his own experiences in the army and how painfully that had ended, at the end of a Pannonian spear. He still walked with a slight limp and, nowadays, was rarely seen without his walking stick. He had thought hard about what happened to him and to Metellus, as well as his beloved Persephone. He also realized that in the end it really was not his choice to make. Artorius had made his decision, and it was, after all, his life to live. As he contemplated these things the younger Artorius came running up the path towards him. Primus watched his son as he slowed to a walk.

He is strong;
he thought to himself,
he is intelligent. I just worry about the rage and the hatred in his heart. I do hope he can find peace and satisfy his need for revenge before it completely consumes him.

Artorius approached his father. His voice was shaking with nervousness as he spoke. “Father, I know you know of my intentions.” As Primus did not reply right away, Artorius continued, “I wish to join the
legions, to serve Rome as my father…and my brother before me.”

“Walk with me,” Primus replied. They walked amongst the vineyards for some time before Primus spoke again. “You say you wish to join the
legions to serve as your brother and I did. Tell me this, my son, would you wish to share the same fate as us, to end up half-crippled, or worse, dead? I only served in the legions for four years before my injuries forced me out. Your brother was in for two years before his death. And let us not forget that your maternal grandfather was killed at Actium. You, of course, understand my concern, being as you are my only remaining son,” he paused before continuing, “but in truth, what concerns me the most is your real motives for joining the army. I saw the hatred in you grow from the moment we heard word of Metellus’ death. I, too, had the same burning inside of me. Believe me; I wanted nothing more than to avenge my son and my wife. In time, I learned to quell my desire for revenge, to calm the raging spirit inside of me. You, my son, have not done this. Your lust for vengeance has only grown over time.”

“It is not just vengeance, Father. It is
justice
that I seek. We both know that the Emperor is planning to launch an overwhelming
invasion of Germania soon. Tell me, what kind of man would I be if I allowed this one chance to pass me by? It is like I can feel Metellus’ soul crying out for justice.”

“And suppose you do go to
Germania and you do exact justice without getting yourself killed, what then?”

“Then I will continue to serve
Rome. The army is the one truly honorable profession left in the civilized world… besides being a teacher.”

Primus smiled at the compliment, though it was a sad smile.
“Very well,” he said, “I shall write your letter, just as I did for your dear brother. And I shall pray nightly to the gods that you do not suffer his fate. Only remember this: to seek justice is a good and noble thing, to seek revenge out of hatred is something that will devour your very soul. You are a strong, intelligent young man, Titus. Do not let hatred rule your fate.”

Very little was said after that. They continued to
walk through the vineyards, discussing other things; anything but the army and the impending war.

The next day they left without ceremony
, for the recruiting headquarters located by the docks in Ostia. There Primus delivered both his son and the letter of introduction that would allow him to join the ranks of the legions. There was sadness in the elder Artorius’ face, but there was also pride. He had sent a letter the night before to Pontius Pilate, asking that he check in on Artorius periodically.

“I’ll be alright, Father,” Artorius said with what he hoped was an air of confidence.

Primus forced a smile before embracing his son. “Remember what I told you. Let
justice
be your guide. The army is only as noble and honorable as the men who serve in it.”

“And I hope to one day find myself worthy of such honor,” Artorius replied. As he walked towards the gate where a number of potential recruits stood waiting, he turned back and faced his father.

“When I do return, Father, I hope that you will have done the right and honorable thing by Juliana. She is the best thing to have come into your life, and you would be a fool to think otherwise.” Without another word, Artorius turned away.

Primus could only smile and marvel at what his son had said.

As soon as Artorius had disappeared within the confines of the recruit depot, Primus started his lonely journey home. He had work to do in the vineyards that day and lessons to prepare…no
, he would stop and see Juliana first.

There were about twenty young men waiting inside the
recruiting headquarters for their physical screenings and interviews. They had come from all over the region. Some were the sons of shepherds and farmers who wanted to rid themselves of the monotony of their fathers’ professions. Others were of the poor and destitute who had nowhere else to go; their names alone allowing them to enlist. Still others came from the city’s middle classes, who were educated and wished to make an honorable profession out of the military.

Artorius took a seat on a bench outside the medical screening room. The other recruits sat in silence, nobody saying a word. Most were young, no older than he was. In spite of his eagerness, he was still a bit apprehensive. He had never been away from home before, and now he was on the verge of leaving forever. Artorius saw similar looks in the faces of the other recruits. All were nervous, yet excited. These men were no conscripts;
Rome had ceased using conscription generations before. No, every last man who served in the legions was a volunteer. These men
wanted
to be there. After what seemed like a long time, the door opened.

“Next,” an orderly said,
waving Artorius in. The examination room was long, with a table and stool at one end.

“Let me see your hands,” the orderly directed. Artorius did as directed. “You’ve done work with these,” the man observed. “No noticeable scars or deformities,” he continued as he wrote on a small pad. Next he held up a small stick.

“Follow this with your eyes,” he ordered as he moved the stick around Artorius’ head. He then made some more notes on his pad. He then required Artorius to squat down and walk with his hands on his hips. A few more brief calisthenics and he sent
Artorius out.

“Alright, it looks like you are fit for duty,” he said without looking up as Artorius left.

As he sat back onto the bench, Artorius thought to himself that the medical screening was too brief, almost rushed. What with the need for additional soldiers on the frontier, it seemed if you possessed all of your fingers and toes and did not have any mysterious diseases evident, then you were accepted. The pre-selection interview was equally rushed. Artorius couldn’t even remember what they had asked him. They were then taken over to the money changers where they would draw an advance on their pay. This excited most of the recruits. Finally, they were ushered into a holding area where they would await transport to the legions on the frontier.

Artorius decided to make conversation with one of the other recruits. He walked over to a powerfully built lad who looked like he was halfway intelligent. The mop of blonde hair on his head betrayed less than purely Latin roots, though this was becoming more and more common. At least he didn’t smell like
sheep shit!

“So now we hurry up and wait,” Artorius said, trying to break the ice.

The young man snorted at the remark. “They rush us through the physical screening and interview so that we can get to the frontier faster, only with our luck there’s probably no transportation available for the next three days.” His sarcasm was thick.

Artorius laughed. “
At least they were good enough to pay us for our time. I’m Artorius,” he said, extending his hand.

“Magnus,” the other recruit replied.

“So what brought you into the service of the Emperor’s legions?” Artorius asked.

Magnus pondered his response. “
I’m the grandson of a minor Nordic noble who earned his citizenship serving in the legions.  I grew up worshiping the Norse and Roman gods. My oldest brother took all the profitable shares of our father’s business; he sells textiles, by the way. My next oldest brother is now an oarsman in the navy, which pays really well, however, it’s utterly monotonous. Plus I get seasick. And since I didn’t feel like finding a real job within the city, I thought I would join the army. What about you?”