Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (38 page)

Chapter XXXIV: End of Days

Rome

March
, 38 A.D.

***

As the Eternal City came into sight over the horizon, Artorius sighed, a series of mixed emotions washing over him. To be certain, he was glad to be home
after months of travel, yet the circumstances surrounding his return still sat hard with him. Unlike his fellow centurions, he had elected to travel in civilian garb. Anymore he felt that wearing his armor made him a fraud. His was in an unusual position since he was technically no longer serving in the legions, yet he maintained his rank, at least an honorary equivalent. Diana had taken the liberty of sending some of her servants forward to secure their accommodations for them. Pilate and Claudia had offered to let them stay at their manor house in Rome, which they had, thankfully, maintained even while they were in Judea for more than a decade.

“I suppose this is where I leave you,” Cornelius observed. “I should go report to the
praetorian prefect.” He had been most fortunate, his connections in the praetorian guard securing for him a centurion’s posting within their ranks. The Judean woman, Rebekkah, had come with him and was now his wife.

“I heard rumors that he murdered the
emperor,” Magnus remarked.

Cornelius snorted.
“Well, I’ll be sure not to ask him that over dinner,” he replied dryly.

He shook hands with the other
centurions and spurred his horse towards the city. It was late morning, and the sun of spring felt good against their backs.

“I don’t suppose you’ll have to have an audience with the
emperor like Pilate did?” Praxus asked, looking over to Artorius, who shook his head.

“No, thankfully I am of little importance to Caligula. I’d hazard he doesn’t even know my name
. At least I hope he doesn’t!”

“Hard to believe that
‘Little Brat’ is now master of the Roman world,” Praxus lamented. “He is the third Caesar I have served under, and I do not feel him worthy of either of his predecessors.”

“You know, I always forget about our difference in age,” Artorius replied, looking over at his friend, who was t
he only one of the group to have served under Augustus.

Artorius was hardly a youthful legionary anymore, having just turned forty a couple of months prior. Praxus was at least six years older than he, yet one would scarcely know it to look at either of them. It always fascinated him that despite the hardships they had suffered together, neither he nor any of his closest friends resembled their age. Diana was four years older than he, and yet she too had remained youthfully defiant in the face of the advancing years.

“Growing old is something best left to other people,” Praxus said with a laugh.

“That’s what my grandfather still says!” Magnus added.

“I cannot believe Olaf is still alive,” Praxus replied. “What is he, a hundred now?”

“Pretty close,” Magnus replied. “He started carrying a walking stick, saying his bad bac
k makes it hard for him to walk. I think he just uses it to beat people with!”

The three friends shared a brief chuckle, after which Artorius let out an audible sigh.
He then took Diana by the hand and without another word, made their way towards the city below.

Cursor let out a sigh as he walked out of the imperial palace
, thankful that his term as plebian tribune was set to end soon. He had used his veto to block the usage of public works funds in order to build an elaborate addition to the palace, including a full-sized lake. This angered the new emperor, Gaius Caligula, who summoned him to the palace to berate him for this.

With his usual candor, Cursor explained that he did not oppose the
emperor building additions to the imperial palace, but they were not to come from the public works funds. He explained that Caligula’s two options were to either use his own funding for the work or he would have to make the addition and lake open to the public. Perceiving this as a joke, Caligula had broken down into a fit of laughter and proceeded to get falling down drunk. He then seemed to forget the reason for summoning Cursor, playfully slapping him on the back repeatedly and telling him he needed to visit more often, that they never saw him enough. Cursor found this last part especially odd, as he had never met Caligula in his life. And as the two men had been alone during their meeting, servants aside, he had no idea who ‘they’ were.

“Yes, he’s a bit unbalanced,” Cassius
Chaerea said as he escorted the plebian tribune from the palace grounds. “One minute I thought he was going to have you strangled, the next he’s acting like you’re his long-lost best friend.”

“And this is the man who now rules the civilized world,” Cursor grunted. “To be honest, Cassius, I do not like the path he is going down. Something tells me that future dealings with him may not end so favorably.
I hear he nullified Tiberius’ will on grounds of insanity.”

“Only that part which named Tiberius’ grandson, Gemellus, as joint heir,” Cassius conjectured.
“He borrowed a quote from Augustus and said there could only be one Caesar. In the rest of the will, he actually respected his predecessor’s wishes.”

“
You know my term as plebian tribune is almost up,” Cursor explained with a change of subject. “I don’t think I shall seek reelection. Let someone else deal with
Little Brat
.”

“You
could always try for a posting with the praetorians,” Cassius suggested. “If you vacate your position, I don’t doubt some of our tribunes will try to attain it.”

“No
, thank you,” Cursor grunted.

“Macro did it,” Cassius added. Despite his years of loathing the
praetorians while serving in the ranks, Platorius Macro had accepted an appointment as a tribune of the guard, which included command of a cohort of praetorians.

“I may eventually ask for command of cavalry again,” Cursor said. “That is if Rome has any campaigns in the foreseeable future while I am still young and fit enough to be of some use.
”

“Suit yourself,” Cassius shrugged. “I’m hardly a young man either
. I think I’ll stay around long enough to see just how well or ill Gaius Caligula reigns.”

As they reached the top of the rise overlooking the port city, Magnus and Praxus turned their mounts around. Below they could just make out Artorius and Dia
na walking their horses, holding hands.

“It still doesn’t feel right,” Praxus remarked, “
Us going back to the legions and not him.”

“I know,” Magnus replied, somberly. “
And yet, I cannot help but think we will see him again; that the fates will bring us together one last time. Believe me, Praxus, we have not seen the last of Titus Artorius Justus.”

Epilog: Six Years Later

Roman Assault Force

Off the Coast of Britannia

43 A.D.

***

The invasion fleet was eno
rmous. From the prow of his vessel and to his left and right, Artorius could see nothing but other ships in either direction. The sea was rough, though the waters were only about chest deep where they were to launch the assault. It would be a rough landing, but as the initial wave would be carrying only their weapons and armor it would be passable enough. The sky was dark, and the wind gusted in his face. Along the short beachhead and up on the cliff he could see numerous fires burning.

“The First Cohort will spearhead the attack,” his commanding
legate had ordered him during the preparations.

When the scout ships had conducted their reconnaissance of the landing site it was empty
, and they did not know whether or not there would be any resistance. The ground at the top of the cliff was reported to be relatively flat and devoid of dense growths of trees. As the First Cohort had the most men, they would move up the beach and secure a large enough area on top of the cliff for the rest of the Twentieth Legion, Valeria. The Second Augusta, Ninth Hispania, and Fourteenth Gemina Legions were all making similar landings at various points along the coastline.

“Depth, two fathoms!”
a nearby sailor shouted over his shoulder as he pulled in the knotted measuring rope that told them how deep the water was.

“Standby to reverse oars!”
Admiral Stoppello shouted to the sailing master who was overseeing the rowers. Camillus, the aquilifer, stood next to his master centurion on the prow of the ship, the legion’s eagle standard clutched to his chest.

Once they hit the shallows the legionaries would
have to slog about a hundred meters through the surf before they hit the beach. It was then that Artorius first heard the ominous chants coming from the beach. Hundreds of figures in hooded cloaks stood around the fires, their faces hidden, and hands held in front of their chests in prayer. Dozens more lined the beach, their chants carrying over the wind and seeming to permeate the very air the legionaries on the ship breathed. They grew even louder as the vessel lurched to a halt in the shallow waters.

“Fucking druids,” Camillus cursed as Artorius turned to face his men.

“First and Second Centuries, up!”
he shouted.
“Form up to advance!”

The soldiers reluctantly got to their feet, clutching their shields and javelins close to them as the sinister chants grew ever louder.

“What the hell’s gotten into them?” Artorius growled as he turned his gaze front once more.

“You have to admit it is a rather riveting performance,” Camillus stated with his usual good nature.
“The lads are superstitious. Even the most battle-hardened veteran still fears the gods of darkness and those who can harness their unholy power.”

“And you don’t?” Artorius asked.

Camillus simply shrugged. “I’ve had a good life. What’s the worst they can do to me?”

Behind them they could hear mutterings from the men laced with words of druids, magic, and curses. Artorius knew they had to move immediately, lest irrational fear upset the entire operation. If his own men were being so adversely affected by the druids’ spectacle, he knew it had to be playing havoc on the men aboard the other assault ships.

“They’d better follow us when we go over,” he grunted.

Camillus simply grinned.
“They’ll follow
this
,” he emphasized, holding up the legion’s eagle. The aquilifer then turned and addressed the legionaries.

“Soldiers of the Twentieth Legion!”
he shouted, holding the eagle high. “You cower like old women before a handful of barbarians in ratted cloaks! Their gods do not hold power over the eagle! Will you let this sacred standard fall into their hands?”

“No!” a legionary shouted, eliciting similar affirmations from the other soldiers.

Camillus gave a sinister grin.
“The eagle advances!”
he shouted.
“Will you follow it to glory or allow it to fall into their vile clutches and damn yourselves for eternity?”

He then turned about, and holding the
eagle aloft, threw it over the front of the ship into the surf. He looked back briefly and saw the looks of horror on the faces of the legionaries before jumping over the side. The standard tumbled end over end before slamming into the sand in the shallow surf.

“The
eagle stands, and it faces the enemy!” Artorius shouted.

He
watched as the aquilifer surged through the crashing waves, retrieved the standard, and started to advance towards the beach alone. He grinned briefly and then turned towards his men with a look of fierce determination.

“To the
eagle!”
he shouted as he jumped over the side of the ship and to his fate.