Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (7 page)

The dirges nearly complete, Artorius walked up to the pyre, which was doused in oil. The stench made him gag. He steeled himself as he walked up to Camilla’s body. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek and kissed her gently on the lips. His memories of her would be of the girl he had spent his childhood with, who had also been his first love; if children can comprehend such meanings.
He had long since let go of whatever attachments he had had, though there was always that trace of regret. No, it was best that he remembered her for the love of his youth rather than the love who abandoned him once they were grown. He wondered if in fact they were meant to be together, and the Fates had punished her for abandoning their plan. He shuddered at the thought, knowing that they could be utterly cruel. For Camilla’s sake he hoped they were satisfied, for surely she had suffered enough.

He turned to see Camilla’s maidservant escorting Marcia away; not wishing for the child to have to watch the pyre burn. Not caring to see this himself, Artorius walked after them. He never looked back.

“Wait!” he said once they were clear of the scene and alone in a small side street. The two turned to face him, the servant keeping her hands protectively on the girl’s shoulders. Without thinking, Artorius fumbled through his hip pouch and pulled out the silver medallion that Camilla had given him all those years ago. He knelt before the child and held it up to her.

“Your mother gave this to me
a long time ago,” he said in a consoling voice. “I want you to have it.” Marcia palmed the medallion while the cord was still clutched in Artorius’ hands. She gave a sad smile and looked him in the eye. Though she may have only been three, there was a deep sense of understanding in those eyes; she was fully aware of what had happened and was not so naïve as one would expect of a babe. Artorius smiled back, his heart breaking for her. In that moment he felt something totally alien to him; he wished that Marcia had been his daughter. He took a deep breath and composed himself. The little girl bowed her head as he hung the medallion around her neck.

“Wear this always, in remembrance of her,”
he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And know that she always loved you.” He then stood and nodded to the servant, who responded with a sad smile of her own and escorted Marcia away; the child’s eyes fixed on the medallion and its image of the goddess Diana.

A firm hand on his shoulder startled Artorius. He turned to see Magnus standing next to him, his eyes wet and reddened.

“Why do you cry?” Artorius asked his friend. Magnus cocked his head to the side before answering.

“Do you not know?” he replied. “
You have so much to learn, old friend. Artorius, you are as much a brother to me as any of my own blood. I know your sorrow for Camilla, and your regret that life was not more kind to her; but you will not show it. You think it would be a sign of weakness; so I grieve
for
you.” Artorius gave a weak smile and nodded in understanding.

“I regret not making a more conscious effort to keep her,” Artorius spoke in a low voice. “
She was closer to me than any when we were young. Camilla and I were closest in age, so it was natural that we would bond. Of course as we grew older, to the age where the opposite sex becomes of greater interest than just as friends, it only seemed natural that we would fall for each other. But then I let my lust for revenge consume me. The closer I came to the age of maturity, the more I longed to join the army and avenge my brother, and the less I focused on she who had always been there for me.

“
When I left for the legions, I knew she would not wait for me. Had I made the slightest effort to keep her with me, things may have turned out differently. She was the youngest of her sisters and of no value politically to her family. I could have taken her with me, Magnus.” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard before continuing. “You know, I have never once given a second thought to having children, as hard as that may be to believe. I have no patience with them. But when I saw Camilla’s daughter today it made me sad with regret. I know this sounds stupid, but I saw today what should have been; I was
supposed
to have a daughter. That child
should
have been mine, Magnus.” The Norseman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“
Sadly we cannot undo the past,” Magnus remarked. “And whether she was supposed to be or not, that child is not your daughter. If the Fates have any mercy, perhaps Camilla has finally found peace in the next life. Come, let us leave this place.” They turned to go back from whence they came, only to see the smoke of the burning pyre in the distance.

“We’ll take another way,” Magnus said, echoing Artorius’ thoughts.

Chapter V: Mad Olaf

Artorius and Magnus
walked in silence along the road. Their furlough would be over within a week and they would have to catch the boat back to Lugdunum. A fresh spring breeze blew gently, the branches of trees dancing in their wake. Artorius felt hollow inside, though he was glad for the sense of closure. A chapter of his life was now closed forever; a chapter that he did not even know had still been open. He had done all he could to make things right by Camilla at the end, he just wondered if his lingering sense of regret would ever leave him. He then kicked a small rock off the paving stones as they strolled on. As they approached a large shade tree, he caught sight of the large figure of a man astride a great horse.

“Magnus you
whore’s tit!”
the man roared. Artorius was taken aback as his friend burst out laughing.

“Who the hell is that?” Artorius asked. Magnus shook his head
, still chuckling.

“Grandfather!” he shouted and ran towards the man who was now laughing as well. The man Artorius surmised could only be Mad Olaf jumped from his mount and embraced his grandson hard. He then gave Magnus a hard cuff across the head while still laughing.

“You bloody twat!” Olaf bellowed; Artorius wondering if he was meaning to shout or if he always talked in such a loud voice. “You make your poor grandfather search all over the damn Empire trying to find you! I came down to Cologne to visit you and they tell me you are stationed in Lugdunum of all places for the next couple years. Well no sooner do I get there than I hear that you are all the way back in bloody Rome on leave!
I had just come from there!
I swear if I had gotten all the way here and found out you had left to go back to bloody Gaul I would have smashed your testicles in by the time I found you! As it is…” with that he cuffed Magnus hard across the head once more. His grandson laughed loudly as he punched Olaf as hard as he could, knocking the old madman to the ground.

“Ah I knew you had at least some
fight in you,” Olaf said as he struggled to his feet. “Too bad you hit like a bloody girl! Your sister hits harder than you. Oh well, come here and give your grandfather a hug!” With that he dove at Magnus, slamming his shoulder into his stomach and taking his legs out from under him. Magnus was tackled to the ground, his wind knocked out of him. Still he managed to cuff Olaf across the ear and bucked him off.

“Um, not to interrupt such an emotional family reunion,” Artorius said as the two Norsemen grappled on their feet. Magnus stepped away, catching his breath. He then turned and pointed towards his friend.

“Oh, Grandfather I want you to meet…” his words were cut short as Olaf punched him behind the ear, knocking him to the ground once more.

“You
wanton harlot! I didn’t say we were done!” Olaf then grunted and waved his hand dismissively at his grandson before turning his attention to Artorius. “Ah, and you must be Artorius. Ye gods, but you’re a big one!” Artorius laughed at the assessment.

Age had robbed Olaf of some of his height, though according to Magnus he never was very tall to begin with. He was just a hair shorter than Artorius, with a long mustache that was braided on either side of his face. His still-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, underneath a skull cap helmet.
Though his appearance made him look like a barbarian, he was in fact very well dressed and his grooming and hygiene were immaculate.

“And you must be the famous Olaf,” Artorius replied with a chuckle. The old man gave him a friendly but hard punch on the shoulder.

“Don’t be such a bastard!” he bellowed. “I know you wanted to say
Mad
Olaf. It is okay lad, I don’t find the name offensive at all.”

“No, in fact he relishes it,” Magnus said as he rose to his feet, massaging the sore spot behind his ear that was starting to turn purple. “No other man shows such boisterous affection towards his grandchildren!”

“Hey, it keeps you sissy girls tough and on your toes!” Olaf retorted as he walked back towards his horse; a magnificent stallion that looked much too large for the old Norseman to handle. And yet he effortlessly vaulted into the saddle. Off of one of the saddle bags hung a very old, but well-maintained battle axe. The wooden handle was sun bleached and the blade bore the scars of countless battles, yet there was not a spot of rust to be found. The two friends walked on either side of the old man as they made their way back towards Ostia.

“Your sister will be happy to see you finally,” Olaf said, catching Magnus’ attention.

“Svetlana’s here?” he asked excitedly. Last time he had seen his sister she had been just shy of womanhood.

“No, not here,” Olaf replied with a shake of his head. “She’s back in Lugdunum. She had been visiting me and was accompanying me back to Lugdunum to see you. But when you were not to be found, she elected to stay and await your return, lest she should miss you. It’s no big deal; a good friend of yours is looking after her.”

“Which friend?” Magnus asked with some trepidation. The term
friend
could be used very loosely, especially when it came to someone offering to ‘look after’ his little sister.

“I’m trying to think of his name…” Olaf contemplated. “A fine fellow, that one; told me where the best spots in the city were to relieve my swollen loins! I think his name started with a V…” A look of horror crossed Magnus’ face and his stared at his grandfather wide-eyed.

“Valens?”
he asked with a start. Olaf smacked his thigh and chuckled.

“Yep, that’s the name! A good man that one!” Artorius burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Grandfather, you left my baby sister with
Valens?”
Magnus was horrified at the thought. “He’s the single biggest pervert I’ve ever met! The man will fuck anything that’s human with a cunt between its legs! I don’t want him anywhere near Svetlana!” Artorius meanwhile was laughing so hard that he had to grab a hold of Magnus in order to stop from falling over. “You’re not helping things, you know!” Magnus retorted as he shoved his friend off.

“I’m sorry,” Artorius replied, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.
“It’s just that the look on your face…”

“Oh Magnus, quit being such a
big girl’s blouse!” Olaf replied with a friendly back-fist to the ear. “Your sister is hardly a baby anymore. Damn girl is taller than I am and very fit.” Magnus groaned at the thought of what temptation that would be for Valens, who while very much a friend was still someone that the Norseman did not want cavorting with his sister. “Svetlana can take care of herself, no worries,” Olaf continued. “The lad’s been nothing but a complete gentleman to her. Now stop fussing about it; you’re making young Odin here nervous!” He tugged gently on the reigns of his horse as if to emphasize his point. “At any rate, I’ll be coming with you back to Lugdunum. A fine city, that! Your Uncle Gunnar is seeing to my affairs while I’m out.” The two legionaries walked alongside the old Norseman and his horse for some time before Artorius elected to break the silence.

“Olaf, I understand you were at Actium,”
he observed. A beaming smile crossed the old man’s face.

“Ay, I was,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I went back to Rome a
few years ago for the fiftieth anniversary celebrations. Sadly there are but a few of us left. I cannot believe it’s been more than
fifty
years. It sometimes feels like it was just last week. I was not a young man even then and yet so many of the veterans look so…well,
old.
”

It was not until they returned to Olaf’s lodgings that he continued in his story.
It was a very high-class inn that only those with extravagant taste and plenty of coin could afford. So when the half-mad Norseman showed up the owners were at first keen to turn him away. Though his clothes were expensive and his hair and hygiene well maintained, he still looked ‘barbaric’ to them. It was then that he produced his pouch full of coin that changed their demeanor towards him. When he showed up with the two legionaries the patriarch of the inn was immediately out the door to take Olaf’s horse personally and see to his needs.

“Will you
need anything else?” the man asked as Olaf dismounted.

“Yes, bring us some of your finest mead!” he answered before turning to Artorius and Magnus. “Come lads, let’s get drunk and tell some stories!” Magnus was still distracted, thinking about his sister and Valens. Artorius had to give him a hard nudge with his elbow to bring him back to his senses.
Magnus just shook his head.

“Would you get over
your sister and Valens already?” Artorius chastised. Magnus gave a short laugh.

“It’s not that…I know how Olaf gets when he’s on the mead.”

Approximately twenty men were lined up in front of Heracles. Hand-picked from dregs of society, they would serve him and him alone. In similar fashion to how Sacrovir had chosen his inner circle, Heracles had selected men with little left to lose. He had sought those of the most bitter and vile nature that they would do even the most repugnant of deeds for him. Some were thieves, others rapists, more murders, and some were a combination of all. Most were hiding from law and were grateful for the shelter and sense of stability that Heracles provided. It also helped that they would no longer be left starving to death in the gutters, to be feasted upon by rabid dogs. Now they would become the wild beasts that would prey upon the populace.

“What orders does Master have for us?” one man asked with his voice raspy; almost like the hiss of a snake. Radek’s face broke into a wicked sneer, though Heracles remained stoic.

“We have work to do,” he answered simply.

“Know that we will serve you, Master…even unto death!” the man with the raspy voice hissed. He kept his face hidden, though from what Heracles could see, the man’s hideousness was matched only by Radek’s mutilated face.

“Of that I have no doubt,” the Greek replied calmly. “And my enemy is now your enemy.”

“Rome is the enemy of any who loves freedom!” one of the men snarled. “They’ve perverted our lands long enough. I would rather see Lugdunum burn to the ground than have it occupied by those vile imperialists for another day.”

“And burn will any who stand against us,” the man with the rasp spoke up. Heracles could not contain his grin. He had thought that finding men of such blind loyalty would be difficult and expensive, and yet it had been all too easy.

Artorius never had much of a taste for mead; it was far too sweet for him.
Even so, he took a goblet that Olaf offered him and was quite pleased. It was certainly more potent than most wines or ales he had drank in the past. Magnus downed his cup in a single pull and immediately asked for more.

“As I was saying,” Olaf said with a loud belch
, “it’s been more than fifty years since we fought at Actium. What a day that was! Mine was among the few auxilia units honored with serving aboard Agrippa’s ships! I of course was not much for boating, so I doubled my mead ration before the battle and kept a flask with me, just in case nerves got the best of me!” He downed another goblet to emphasize this point as Magnus broke into laughter.

“Grandfather, I don’t think nerves have
ever
gotten the best of you!” he said with a broad grin.