Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (3 page)

Chapter I
I: Calm after the Storm

Vexilation Garrison of Legio XX, Cohort III, Lugdunum, Gaul

The sun shown over the hills; the city of Lugdunum was slowly waking up to the start of the new day. Artorius stood on the small balcony, stretched his arms overhead and breathed deeply. The cool breeze felt pleasant and invigorating and he enjoyed the view from up there. The glow of the sun as it cast its light on the forum in the distance was a far better sight than the view from his barracks back in Cologne, where all you saw was another barracks block across from you.

The Third Cohort had been garrisoned at Lugdunum ever since the end of the Sacrovir Revolt.
Though such postings were not unusual, it was the first for Artorius in his six years with the legions.

Six years
, he thought to himself.
Has it really been that long?
Of course six years paled in comparison to the lengths that some of his fellow soldiers had been serving. Master Centurion Calvinus, the Legion’s Primus Pilus, had been in the army for twenty-seven years; four years longer than Artorius had been alive. The thought was a little overwhelming, especially with everything that had happened to him thus far in his young career. He was a veteran of many savage battles and brutal campaigns and had been decorated three times for valor or meritorious service. Everyday citizens could never comprehend the magnitude of experience possessed by even the youngest of legionaries. Contrary to popular belief, most Roman men did not join the legions upon reaching the age of maturity. Rome’s total combined military force, to include legionaries, auxilia, and urban cohorts, numbered roughly three hundred thousand men under arms. Of these less than half, maybe one hundred and twenty-five thousand, were legionaries; a miniscule percentage of an empire’s population that numbered upwards of seventy million souls.

Though he had already seen and done more than most would ever in a dozen lifetimes, his age still reared its head on occasion. Within the Second Century he was the youngest of the Decanii; the Sergeants of legionaries. He was also the youngest chief weapons instructor in the entire Third Cohort. This led to him sometimes being referred to as “the boy Decanus.”
The fact that he had a young face which required a shave but once a week added to this image. In truth Artorius relished looking so young, for he figured that perhaps when he was forty he would still pass for a man in his late twenties to early thirties.

He was extremely muscular and strong, something he took great pride in. Though
he could not say for certain, but he figured he outweighed even the tallest and best-built men in the Third Cohort; something he took pride in.

Be that as it may, his age had certainly not held him back from becoming Valeria’s
Legion Champion
, where his physical power complemented his skill in battle nicely. During the spring before the Sacrovir Revolt, sixty-four of the best close combat fighters in the legion had faced off in a tournament, with Artorius emerging victorious. And He also distinguished himself as a leader of men during the rebellion. During some fierce fighting with a vastly superior enemy force in the mountains outside of Augusta Raurica, he had organized a hasty defense with two other sections that repelled a rebel counterattack.

He let out a sigh. The strain of his position took its toll on him some days, and he was glad for the reprieve that being garrisoned in Lugdunum brought him.
He had been so eager for promotion that he took advantage of the opportunity afforded him without thinking through the full consequences brought on by promotion. How the Centurions handled it he had no idea.

“Morning
,” a voice behind him said through a loud yawn. Artorius turned to see his friend Magnus stretching his arms out to his sides while yawning still. “Aren’t you cold?” The Norseman had already donned his tunic, while Artorius was still naked to the waist.

“Ah, the
cool spring breeze feels good first thing in the morning,” the Decanus replied.

“You keep standing out there like that and your nipples are going to get all perky like an aroused whore,” Magnus replied.
Artorius ignored him.

“You realize that we haven’t done a single road march since we’ve been here?”
he asked aloud. Magnus nodded. “Well, we’ll just have to fix that. Can’t let the boys get all soft on us now.”

“Too much wine and prostitutes do you think?” Magnus asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Too much wine perhaps,” Artorius consented, “but I wouldn’t say too much fornication. Every physician I have ever met says that it is healthy for men to constantly relieve themselves of excess testicular man-load!” His friend laughed out loud at his assessment.

“Yes, and I’m sure they put it as succinctly as you!”

“But of course,” Artorius replied with a wink. He then let out a sigh and assessed his physique. “I’ll lay off the alcohol but don’t think for a second I’m going to stop trying to bury my cock in as many delicate young women as I can!”

“Hmm, well you know it’s not just the young ones who have to worry,” the Norseman said with a grin. Artorius gave a shrug.

“Well yes, I do in fact like the ones who are a bit older and are more in tune with their bodies. How’d you know?” Magnus gave a shrug of his own and grinned.

“Oh, it’s just that some of the lads and I saw a couple of women bearing the
mark of Artorius
.” Magnus was referring to his Decanus’ tendency to leave visible bite marks on the necks of women he associated with.

“Vitruvius made mention of a Gre
ek gymnasium in the city the other day,” Magnus added, changing the subject. Artorius frowned in contemplation.

“That’s not one of those places where Greeks get sweaty and naked together is it?” he asked.

“Probably,” his friend replied with a laugh. “But hey, if they’ve got the equipment that will allow us to build enough muscle that we put the statues of the gods to shame, I’m all for it.” Artorius grinned. Though he may have been getting a little soft, he still possessed more muscle mass and power than any in the Third Cohort; probably the entire Legion. The thought of tightening up the areas that were growing soft and adding even more muscle to his frame greatly appealed to him.

“Well let’s go and find it then, shall we?”

They
decided to take a walk through the city first. Lugdunum was a mixture of Gallic, Roman, and Greek architecture; a melting pot of cultures that Artorius found to be both fascinating as well as slightly perverse. He pointed this out to Magnus, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Artorius, you seem to forget that
I
am a type of cultural melting pot,” he said as they walked past an old timber mead hall; a place where Gallic warriors and nobles would come to feast and celebrate martial victories in ages past. “I am a Norseman whose family, outside of my father and brothers, still lives in the Scandinavian regions outside of the Empire. And yet I am also a Roman.”

“So how exactly do you go about fitting into both cultures?” Artorius asked. Magnus gave a slight chuckle at that.

“To be honest, it isn’t easy some days,” he replied. “My grandfather, who won us our citizenship in the first place, still wears his hair in a long ponytail, his great beard braided on both sides of his chin. He laughs and jokes with my father and I about how effeminate we look with our short hair and clean-shaven faces.” Artorius started laughing aloud.

“Magnus, you are anything but effeminate!”

“I know that,” his friend replied, “and so does my grandfather, even if he did say I looked like the quintessential boy lover! The thing is he spent twenty-five years as an auxiliary to earn Roman citizenship, not for himself, but for his sons. Once his tenure was over he returned home to the old country. His sons at least had the opportunity to put their citizenship to use. Strangely enough, only my father chose to do so…ah, here we are.”

They came upon a large marble building, one with massive pillars and stairs leading to the main doors. A large brass plaque was posted on the right-hand side of the doors. It read:

Lugdunum Gymnasium

Only the Strong May Enter

“Think we qualify?” Magnus asked, looking at Artorius inquisitively. Artorius raised and flexed his right bicep. Though softer than was usual for him, the bulging muscles still looked impressive.

“Yeah, I think we’ll be alright,” he joked as they walked inside. Artorius was in awe as he gazed upon the interior of the gymnasium. Never before had he seen such masculine beauty. There were stones of various sizes, along with bars and other equipment for building strength; ropes hung from the ceiling that men could be seen climbing up and down; there was a roped off area
in a sand pit where men were boxing and wrestling; steam was coming from the communal sauna; and through the back archway one could see a lengthy pool with men swimming in it.

“A
bout time you two showed up!” a voice yelled at them from over at the strength training floor. They looked over to see Vitruvius, shirtless and covered in sweat. His muscles were pumped up and swollen, ready to burst through the skin. Artorius grinned broadly and hurried down the steps to join his friend and mentor. “By Apollo, but you two have gone soft!”

“Eh, I was never that hard to begin with,” Magnus lied. Artorius raised an eyebrow at the remark.

“Hey, your issues with getting ‘hard’ are not my concern,” Vitruvius replied with an elbow to the ribs. “Well come on, I just got warmed up!”

A passion burned inside each of the men as they sweated their way through exercises meant to add size to their powerful frames. Artorius knew that it had always been there, bei
ng that he had built his size and strength in a very crude form of a home-made gym when he was a young lad. Magnus possessed that inborn Scandinavian power and tenacity; his very soul wished for nothing more than to become bigger and stronger. Vitruvius…if ever there was a god incarnate, it was him. Artorius could only match him in size and power because of his extreme work ethics. An unspoken bond was born between the three men; they would meet every day and build their bodies above and beyond what they had ever thought possible. Rank played no role in their relationship of stone and steel. Once they passed through those doors, the only thing that mattered was the formation of brutal strength.

Through each muscle-building exercise they would push each other. Great stones would they press overhead. Each man tried to outdo the others in numbers of repetitions completed. Another stone would he wrap his arms around and squat down until his thighs were parallel with the ground, all the while heeding the shouts of encouragement from his companions as he fought to do one more repetition.
A simple bar on a wooden frame they would use for doing pull ups to widen their backs and increase bicep strength.

Several weeks into their routine, Artorius and Magnus were walking back to their billets, Vitruvius having gone ahead by himself. Once they left the gymnasium the boundaries of rank returned and fraternization was avoided. They soon came upon the slave market at Four Corners Road. The stockades reminded Artorius of the ones they had hastily erected following the Battle of Augustodunum to handle the large number of prisoners they had taken. He expressed this to his friend who simply shrugged.

“Slaves are slaves, nothing special,” Magnus stated. “To tell the truth, I’ve always had little use for them.”

“Do your people in the high country use slaves much?” Artorius asked as he gazed at the mournful faces that stared from behind the bars while patrons eyed them for possible purchase.

“Of course,” Magnus replied, “though not on the scale you see here. Mostly priso
ners of conquered tribes are all you see. While my native people don’t exactly oppose slavery, they don’t market human beings on the scale like you see within the Empire.”

They
then reminisced about the consequences suffered by the nobles who had been dragged into Sacrovir’s rebellion. Thousands of noble youths had been killed in battle; and of those who survived, dozens had been sold into slavery when their fathers refused to pay their ransoms. The ransoms had been severe, and had cost many a noble family their lands and treasure. The lands confiscated had been auctioned off, with many Roman nobles taking advantage of the deals. Centurion Proculus had even taken part, purchasing lands and an estate, which were now under the care of one of his cousins. He had already bought himself a grand villa on Esquiline Hill; however he was quick to jump on the opportunity to buy him and his wife a nice estate in the country. Artorius remembered seeing this cousin once, a rather fetching lady named Diana. He had not had the opportunity to see her up close, as he was on a patrol that morning; though even from a distance he could tell she was absolutely radiating. So enraptured had Artorius been that once off duty he had rushed to the nearest brothel and bought himself the most expensive courtesan he could find, just to get her out of his mind.

“A month’s pay blown in one night!” Magnus heckled as they arrived at the Principia.

“Well I didn’t require a wank for about a week after that, so I think it was well spent!” Artorius retorted as he went inside for his monthly meeting with the Tesserarius to go over the Century’s duty roster for the next month.