Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (36 page)

“Fine,” he replied. “Though if you could do me a favor; run back to the barracks and grab the blanket off my bunk in the Centurion’s quarters.”

“Of course, sir,” Felix replied, shaking his head.

The entire squad looked baffled as they all glimpsed at their commander lying in the grass, arms around his wife.

“Didn’t look like they were fucking,” one of the men muttered, drawing a sharp rebuke from Felix.

Diana giggled nervously, which helped relieve some of her emotional strain.

“I’m sorry to have embarrassed you,” she said softly.

Artorius ran the back of his hand gently over the side of her face, causing her to sigh.

“After all you’ve done for the lads, there is nothing to be embarrassed about,” he replied.
“I hope you don’t mind Felix fetching us a blanket. At least now those poor auxiliaries stuck outside the hospital have some comfort, thanks to you.”

“I had to do some
thing,” Diana replied. “I couldn’t continue to live in pampered luxury while those who give me that right suffer in the cold after they have given so much. It saddens me to think that this is the aftermath of all wars, and yet once the fighting is over, those who have given the most are immediately forgotten.”

“You were named after a goddess,” Artorius observed. “And now you have become like a goddess to those men. If ever the fates gave us a divine protector, I now hold her in my arms.”

Diana returned to the hospital two days later. She insisted on working as an orderly, despite her status as both a noble and a woman. She procured medicines, bandages, and blankets to supplement the Legion’s exhausted supplies.
She also arranged for barrels of fresh water to be brought in and refilled daily. More permanent shelters were added to house the auxiliaries who had been outside. From sunrise to sunset she would assist the medics, while offering as much comfort to the sick and dying as she was able. It took a toll on her emotionally, though in the end it made her that much stronger. Her husband was like a father to the men of his Century, and now Lady Diana had become a goddess to the entire Legion.

Chapter XXVI: Redemption

***

“Cousin?” Diana questioned as she walked into the room. Centurion Primus Ordo Valerius Proculus had contracted a fever following his terrible injuries at Braduhenna and had been unable to see visitors. His lavish bedroom at his house had been made into a hospital room by the appearance of several doctors and medics, along with all of their equipment and various ointments and other drugs. The midday sun shone on Proculus as he tried to sit upright in bed. He was still very pale, and it looked like he had lost a tremendous amount of weight.

“Dearest little Diana,” he rasped, though he forced a smile. She was glad when she held his hand and felt a lot of strength in his grip. It was a good sign. She looked behind her and the doctor nodded and left the room, along with his medics.

“I’m relieved to see you are still among the living,” Diana said, her broad smile one of genuine happiness.

“Perhaps,” Proculus said quietly
, “though I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Diana stifled a giggle and placed a finger on her cousin’s lips.

“Shh, don’t try to talk,” she replied soothingly. “I came to tell you that I got word from Vorena. She should be here in a few days.” Diana was startled to see Proculus look crestfallen.

“Vorena?” he said. “She will see me like this…” He turned his head to the side, gazing out the window. His grip weakened and Diana thought she could see a tear forming in his eye.

“Vorena’s your wife,” she pleaded. “She should be by your side, regardless of what you look like! Please cousin, let her be here for you.”

“In all our years…she has never had to see
this
. I have tried to keep it from her…did not want to upset her.”

As her
exhausted cousin drifted off to sleep a tear came to Diana’s eye. Proculus and Vorena had been married for more than twenty years; they had two sons who were both reaching the age of maturity, as well as two younger daughters. And for all that time Proculus had tried to shield her from the horrors of how he made a living. He had made his fortune on the bodies of fallen races destroyed by Rome, but then again, so had Vorena’s family.

Her
paternal grandfather was the legendary Lucius Vorenus, Centurion Primus Pilus of the Eleventh Legion during the time of Julius Caesar and the conquest of Gaul. Proculus often spoke of the Centurion he had idolized as a child, never knowing that he would one day marry the man’s granddaughter. He had admired Vorenus’ loyalty to both Rome and to his friends. His bond with his fellow Centurion, Titus Pullo, proved unbreakable, even though they ended up on opposite sides during the civil war between Caesar and Pompey. Though they only met once when Vorenus was nearing the end of his days, he had been the epitome of what Proculus viewed to be the ideal soldier.

Vorena had
, therefore, come from a military family, and Proculus knew the agony that her mother and grandmother had been through when their husbands went off to war. He had wanted to spare his wife from that, and now he found himself virtually crippled from wounds suffered on the battlefield. Diana surmised that it would upset Proculus far more than Vorena, though Diana had warned her to steel herself for when she saw her husband.

It was a modest cottage; stone walls and a thatched roof, with a chimney for the cooking fire towards the back. As Cursor rode up on his horse
, he saw that it sat on a small parcel of land. The harvest was coming soon, and he could see a young man supervising a handful of workers in the field. A woman, somewhere in her mid forties from the look of her, was drawing water from a nearby well. She glanced up briefly and froze when she saw the Tribune. Cursor had wished to avoid being conspicuous by wearing his armor and plumed helmet, though he knew it was necessary. Bandits on the roads were quick to attack merchants and other travelers, but they usually stayed clear of uniformed soldiers. Besides, it would not have been long before his identity was known. A squad of auxiliary cavalrymen had accompanied him, along with Commander Julius Indus.

“We can wait for you here, sir,” Indus said. He and Rodolfo had shared a long and mutually respectful professional relationship, though Indus knew that the fewer men who Rodolfo had to deal with the better.

Cursor looked back and nodded affirmatively.

“I will let you know as to his temperament,” the Tribune replied, “provided this is even his residence, of course. If he is willing to see me, he may consent to seeing at least one other old friend.”

Indus gave a brief smile. “I would like that,” he said.

Cursor then dismounted his horse, removed his helmet, and removed a large satchel from his horse, which he slung over his shoulder. Indus and the cavalrymen dismounted and guided their mounts over to a grove of apple trees where they would wait for him.
The Tribune walked towards the cottage just as Rodolfo emerged, a carving knife held loosely in his hand.

“Still doing you
r woodworking, I see,” Cursor greeted his friend. The former Centurion stood dumbfounded and dropped his head in resignation.

W
ith a hand on his shoulder, Cursor walked Rodolfo over to the ox cart. The Tribune placed the satchel next to a couple of chests and a tarp. 

“You may recognize this one,” the Tribune explained, “you left without taking your personal chest with you. It hasn’t been opened; I simply put a lock on it so that no one would mess with your personal effects. And this…” He pulled back the tarp, revealing the
Centurion’s helmet and squamata armor. “Whether you ever wear them again is not my concern, but they are yours. And you may want this.” He reached beneath the canvas folds and pulled out Rodolfo’s spatha.

The
former Centurion took the weapon, which was in its scabbard, and stared at it blankly. He then set it down, though he still remained silent. Cursor then pointed to the last chest. It was much smaller than the other, though it was extremely heavy to move. At this time, the woman from the well and the youth had arrived, both pale with apprehension. Rodolfo put his arms around the woman with a shy smile and gave her a brief hug.  Turning back to the Tribune he stammered an introduction of his wife and son. Cursor bowed to the woman, his hand over his heart.

“
And here, we have the last thing owed to you by Rome.” With that, the Tribune threw open the lid of the second chest, revealing a mass of gold and silver coins.  Both Rudolfo’s wife, Laurencia, and his son, Henk gasped in shock at the sight. “You forgot about your retirement savings that you’ve kept for all these years. Plus, I went ahead and cashed out your pension, giving you a lump sum, rather than an annual stipend. Less hassle and less contact with Rome.”  His face held a small, smug smile.

The amount of coin was the reason behind Apronius insisting that Cursor take a squad of cavalrymen with him. Between what Rodolfo had saved over the years, plus the monetary lump sum pension for an auxiliary
Centurion, there was perhaps one hundred thousand denarii in the chest; the equivalent of a year’s salary for an entire legionary cohort.

“Father, does this mean we’re rich?” Henk asked, trying to control his enthusiasm.

One hundred thousand denarii would be enough to buy them a large manor house or massive estate. Rodolfo picked up and drew his spatha, stabbing it into the cart next to the chest.

“This is blood money,” he
spat. “All of this was gotten through thirty years of murder!”

“As is the money paid to any professional soldier,” Cursor retorted with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Look, if you don’t want to take this coin that is your decision. But do you think it will make the guilt go away? Do you think it will end the nightmares that haunt you?”

Rodolfo glared at him at this last remark. A knowing grin crossed the Tribune’s face, for he knew he had struck a chord.

“I know that the countless battles you have fought
rend your soul,” he continued, “for they terrorize my dreams, as well. No soldier that survives to see the end of a long career does so without paying a heavy toll in physical and emotional scars. You can’t make them go away, my friend. But what you
can
do is take what Rome owes you for what you suffered for Her! And if not for yourself, do it for them.” He nodded towards Rodolfo’s family and knew that he had won.

The
former Centurion placed a hand within the chest, closed his eyes and hung his head. Laurencia stepped over to him and placed a hand on his back.

“It’s okay, my love,” she said as she gently
patted his back. “It’s okay for you to let Rome make amends with you. Take what is owed to you and then let your rage go.”

“I have one more thing,” Cursor said as Rodolfo opened his eyes and raised his head. “Actually, it is something
you
owe
me
.” He then reached into the satchel he had placed on the cart and pulled out the half finished carving of the horse bust. This brought the first smile to Rodolfo’s face since Cursor’s arrival.

“You do still carve, don’t you?” he asked with a grin. “You promised to make this for me, so now I expect you to honor your word and finish what you started.”

Rodolfo smiled broadly, tears running down his cheeks as he took the block from Cursor. He then nodded affirmatively.

“I will do so,” he replied
thickly, “for you, my one true friend from Rome.”

“Actually, you do have at least one other,” Cursor replied, waving over to Commander Indus, who briskly walked over to them.

Rodolfo set the carving down and embraced Indus and slapped him hard on the back.

“Gods damn it
, man!” Indus chastised. “You had us all worried!”

“I owe you an apology,” Rodolfo replied. He then looked to Cursor, “and to you, sir.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Cursor replied with a shake of his head. “Know that your honor is intact and the safety and care of your family ensured. You are not a deserter, but a retired Centurion of Rome.”

Amke had a gloom about her that failed to dissipate. King Tabbo had noticed it ever since Braduhenna. He could scarcely blame the girl. The Daughters of Freyja had paid dearly for their valor in trying to protect her uncle, the
King. Nearly half had been slain, with most of the rest badly injured for their efforts. Every day Amke visited the grove dedicated to her matron deity. It was there that Tabbo found her kneeling before an altar, her face blank, eyes shut.

“If you wish to honor the goddess, you must allow yourself to move on,” the
King said gently.

Amke’s eyes remained
closed. “I am not worthy to serve the goddess,” she said after a brief pause. She then opened her eyes, but kept them fixed straight ahead. “My sisters and I were charged with defending the King, and we failed. Freyja found us unworthy and abandoned us at the end.”

“You should not say such things,” Tabbo soothed as he sat on a
log near where Amke knelt.

At last she looked up at him. Though her eye had since reopened, her face was still discolored and partially swollen from the blow she had taken during the battle. The bandage was off her arm
, as well, but the scar left behind was fearful to look upon. While her clothing covered it, the gash on her side was still a sickly, oozing mess, even as it was slowly healing. Amke now walked with a limp that she was very self conscious of. She quietly wondered if she would ever be able to walk properly, let alone wield a weapon.