Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (40 page)

“He would have liked that,” a woman’s voice said behind him.

Artorius turned to see a statuesque woman a few years his senior. He immediately recognized her as his fallen friend’s sister, Vitruvia. The man who accompanied her, he also recognized.

“Optio Valgus!” he said.

“Centurion Artorius,” Valgus replied.

The man who had savaged him through recruit training and helped mold him into a legionary was much changed since last they had seen each other twelve years before. His hair was mostly gray, despite his less than advanced years. He walked with a slight stoop and had to use a walking stick, as well as being supported by his wife. His legs had lost much of their muscularity, and he had developed a noticeable belly. Still
, his face was unmistakable; it was the face of a man Artorius had looked up to and hoped to make proud as he had struggled through recruit training, and then later while on campaign during the Germanic Wars. Artorius walked over and clasped Valgus’ forearm.

“It’s good to see you, sir,” he said with much emphasis.

Valgus gave a sad smile and shook his head. “It is not appropriate for a Centurion to address a former Optio as
sir,”
he corrected. Artorius simply shook his head.

“I may be a
Centurion,” he observed, “but it was you who taught me what I know. You and…”

Both men turned towards the slabs of marble that would be the monument for Vitruvius.

“He was the greatest soldier Rome ever had,” Valgus remarked. “He saved my life, you know.”

“I remember,” Artorius replied. “It was during that gods’ awful assault we came under at the Ahenobarbi Bridges.”

“I took a spear through the hip,” the former Optio remembered, “and before the barbarians could finish me, here came Vitruvius and Statorius. That magnificent bastard even snapped the neck of one of those fuckers with his bare hands!”

“I think he was more afraid of what I would do to him if anything happened to you than he was of the barbarians,” Vitruvia thought aloud.

“He said as much,” Valgus concurred. His face then became somber. “He saved my life, and yet I could not be there to save his.”

“Sir, you cannot blame yourself for what happened to Vitruvius,” Artorius responded. “Two centuries tried to save him and failed.”

“That does not matter,” Valgus retorted. “I owed him my life. Now the debt can never be repaid. It is a scar on my soul that I must bear, both in this life and the next. I only hope he can forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, love,” Vitruvia replied gently, caressing her husband’s
face. Her own eyes were damp with emotion as she addressed Artorius. “Celia and the children are coming to live with us. Raising the sons of my brother is a greater task than any woman can take on alone. Fate has taken their father from them, but they will not be without fatherly influence.”

Valgus gave a sad nod.
“I hope that by raising my nephews into fine young men I will help atone for my failure to my brother-in-law and friend.”

It baffled Artorius that Valgus could somehow blame himself for Vitruvius’ death. The two men had been very close during their years as legionaries and had come up through the ranks together. They had been more brothers than friends long before Valgus fell for
Vitruvius’ sister.

“At least the inscription is appropriate,” Valgus observed as all three of them gazed at the memorial plaque. “He would have liked that.”

The plaque was deeply etched, with the lettering blackened for emphasis. It read:

Soldier rest, thy warfare is over

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking

Dream of battled fields no more

Days of danger, nights of waking

Rest Soldier, Rest

Chapter XXIX
: A Legend Reborn

***

“Fall in!”

It was an hour before dawn, late in September, and Artorius had formed up his men, ready to lead them on a ten mile road march. Slowly, the men of the Century were returning to the level of physical fitness they had once possessed. The afternoons were still warm this time of year, and Artorius decided that it would be best to start building the men’s endurance up again on marches during the cooler hours of the day.

“The Century is formed up and ready to march,
Centurion,” Praxus reported with a crisp salute.

Artorius returned the courtesy
, and the Optio took his place behind the formation. Their numbers may have been few, and most were still somewhat weakened by their wounds, but Artorius was determined to build his unit back to what it was. No one wore armor or helmets; not yet. He did not even wear his Centurion’s helm, so from a distance he looked like just another legionary. This suited him just fine. His men knew who he was, and he was never one for pompous displays.

Artorius knew it would take time to build his men back to their former level of fighting strength.
Each man wore his gladius on his hip and carried his pack with some rations for the day. It was a start. If all he had was forty-six men, then by the gods he would make them the best forty-six legionaries in the whole of the Empire!

“Century!”
he shouted.
“Right…face!”
He then took his place at the head of the small column, Rufio at his side with the Signum.

He was proud when he viewed his Century’s standard, for the brass hand that adorned the top was now bordered by a wreath,
similar to that of the Civic Crown. It was symbolic of the unit’s collective valor and had been awarded to them by Legate Apronius, in the name of the Emperor, for their sacrifice in holding the flank against overwhelming numbers. The rest of the Rhine Army regarded him and his men with the highest level of respect and awe. The soldiers who had fought on the line understood what the Third Cohort’s Second Century had suffered for them.

The
warm wind blew gently on the Centurion’s face as they marched along the road that led through Cologne. The city forum was not yet alive with the crowds that would wake soon enough. At the outskirts of the city they marched past his house. Artorius could not resist breaking into a grin when he saw Diana leaning against the gate that led into their villa. She smiled and winked at him, glad to see her husband leading his men once more.

“Ave, my lady!”
the men shouted.

At mid
morning they reached the top of a small hill that overlooked the woods that covered the area. Artorius stood with his hands on his knees and stretched his back out. The stone marker alongside the road told him that they had gone eight miles; far better than he thought they would do. He looked back at his men, and though they looked winded they still kept pace with him. Some who had been among the more gravely wounded and just returned to duty were sweating profusely, their faces pale. One in particular was breathing heavy and looked like he was about to fall over. Artorius recognized him as one of the young legionaries who joined just prior to Braduhenna. The soldier snapped to attention as the Centurion approached him.

“You’re still on light duty, aren’t you?” Artorius asked.

The legionary swallowed hard, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Yes
, sir. I’m sorry, sir…it’s just that when I saw the Century forming up, I could not watch you all leave without me. First time the Century has been together since…” The legionary dropped his gaze downwards. He was fully expecting to be chastised by his Centurion for violating the conditions of his light duty.

Instead
, Artorius placed a hand on his shoulder and the legionary looked up and caught his gaze.

“There’s no quit in the Second Century, is there?” Artorius asked.

The legionary stood tall, his gaze confident once more.

“No sir!”

“Then you will lead us back,” the Centurion replied with an approving nod. He then turned and addressed the rest of the Century. “We’ll rest here for an hour. Squad leaders, make sure your men eat and get plenty of water. Also check everyone’s feet for blisters.” He then found a shade tree and stretched out his lower back and his legs before sitting down beneath it. He pulled a hunk of bread and dried beef from his hip pouch and took a long pull off his water bladder. As he took in a deep breath and enjoyed the cooler breeze coming up from the valley, Praxus hunkered down in front of him.

“The lads are finding their fighting spirit again,” he said approvingly.

Artorius took another bite of bread and downed some more water before answering.

“It n
ever left them,” he replied. “Just went dormant for a while. How could it not after what we’ve been through? They need to build their confidence back slowly while allowing their bodies to heal properly. Take that soldier who violated his light duty restrictions in order to be with us. There is no quit in him. He will recover faster than some of us who may or may not have been injured as badly as he was. While I do not condone men violating their restrictions set forth by the medics, it makes me glad to see this kind of resolve once more. I also placed him at the head of the column going back so he can set a more measurable pace for himself, rather than trying to keep up with the rest of us.”

“I just wonder if we’ll ever be at full strength again,” Praxus mused as he sat back against the same tree. “I know a century almost never has all of its billets filled, I just would like to see us where we were before Braduhenna.”

“Never happen,” Artorius replied. “Oh, we’ll get most of our numbers back, but the century will never be the same again. The copper wreath that adorns our standard came at a terrible price, as do the laurels all units receive from battle. The men who replace our absent friends will have to
earn
the right to march under the Signum of the Second Century! So no, old friend, the century will never be what it was before. Through hell fire, death, and pain we have forged her into something better. The men may not realize it just yet, but they will.”

The former tax collector for Fri
sia was nodding on his couch after a late night of drinking and some amazing nubile wenches, when a ferocious banging was heard loudly from the front of his villa. Several servants rushed to open the vibrating oak door. Olennius was shocked to see legionaries waiting at the door. Senator Gallus had set him up in comfortable quarters and had assured him that he would find a suitable assignment for him soon enough. So when he heard the loud banging on the door at an hour past midnight it took him completely by surprise. Upon further examination, he saw that it wasn’t legionaries that stood outside; it was the Emperor’s own Praetorian Guard.

“Olennius?” the Decanus at the head of about a dozen men asked.

“Who wants to know?” the magistrate sneered defiantly as he ambled toward the Decanus. “And what business have you banging on people’s doors at this hour?”

Before he could say another word, the Decanus slammed his fist into Olennius’ gut, crumpling him to the floor
where he vomited some expensive wine. The Praetorian was a big man, one who was not used to having people talk back to him.

“My
business
is the Emperor’s!” he snarled as Olennius fought for breath. “And so is yours.”

“But Senator Gallus promised…” Olennius’ words were cut
short as he was dragged to his feet and met by a hard cuff across the side of the head, the soldier’s brass cuffs opening a nice slice on his forehead.

The Decanus then grabbed him by the hair
, pulling his head back, and leaned down so that his face was inches from the magistrate’s.

“Senator Gallus does n
ot give orders to the Emperor, or to us!” he snapped. “Now we can do this the easy way and my lads here will escort you to the Imperial Palace. Or we can do it the hard way, which I’m sure you don’t want to hear; your choice.”

Olennius swallowed hard and nodded as the Decanus
tightened his grip on his greasy hair and slammed him to the wall.

“Now was that so hard, sir? Be a good man and step between the two ranks of Praetorians. Don’t want anything happening to you at night in the middle of Rome. It can be dangerous out there
,” he sneered.

The Praetorians marched on either side of him as they headed to the docks. Olennius meant to ask about the
Imperial Palace but then he remembered, the Emperor was no longer in Rome. It was to Capri, Olennius would be taken. He hoped that Tiberius was feeling merciful by the time he arrived.

“What is this?” Artorius asked.
Seventeen young men stood rigid in front of the Century’s barracks.

“You tell me,
” Dominus replied with irritation. “I figured it was another one of your recruiting drives. These all arrived from the depot this morning, asking…no,
begging
to be assigned to you.”

“Dominus, I haven’t done any personal recruiting drives this year,” Artorius replied with genuine surprise.

“Well, Macro said that if they want to follow the
legendary
Centurion Artorius, who was he to deny them?” The Cohort Commander grinned as he finished.

“Dominus, I’m hardly a legend,” Artorius retorted.

“Then your powers of observation aren’t what I thought they were,” Dominus replied, walking away.

Artorius exhaled audibly as his mind raced. He had not expected to receive any new recruits. Fortunately, a legionary from the Century happened to walk past him. He grabbed the man quickly.

“Fetch Optio Praxus!” he ordered. “Tell him we need to arrange billeting and training schedules for seventeen new recruits.”

“Sir!” the legionary acknowledged, noticing the new men for the first time.

Artorius then stood tall and breathed in deeply. All he wore was his tunic and belt. He did not have his gleaming armor and polished helmet like he normally did when addressing new recruits. He didn’t even have his vine stick, the very symbol of his office! In spite of that, these young men were in awe of him. He always joked that it was his large, muscular frame that intimidated people; however, for perhaps the first time he realized that there was more to it than that.

Slowly he walked the line of recruits, silent and with his hands clasped behind his back. They were a typical lot and still in civilian garb. Some had come from the cities, others were farmers, some the sons of merchants, and there were those whose slovenly appearance told of abject poverty. For these men, their names alone allowed them the honor of serving in the legions. Like all new candidates, they varied in age, though most were very young. The youngest were seventeen, the minimum age by law
for a citizen to enlist. The oldest looked to be around twenty-five. The recruits did not know whether to be excited or terrified at the prospect of serving under the
legendary
Centurion Artorius. It mattered not. Soon they would be subjected to the harsh rigors of recruit training, where only sheer intestinal fortitude and dedication would see them through. Many, perhaps all, would sooner or later feel the wrath of his discipline via the vine stick. But then Artorius had taken his share of beatings as a recruit, and even later as a legionary. Finished with his assessment, he walked slowly back to the center.