Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (5 page)

“I don’t worry about that,” the Optio replied. “Besides, there is only one woman I think I will ever truly love.” His last remark caused Vitruvius to drop the stone with a loud thump into the sand below.

“What the fuck, Artorius?” he asked sternly. “No one in Roman society marries for something as asinine and mythological as love! Marriage serves a practical function in life; it allows us to form bonds between houses, plus it gives us the legitimate means of producing the next generation of Romans. If a couple does grow to love one another, it is only after a number of years of being constantly in each other’s presence, but it’s not like it’s a condition of a successful marriage.”

“I know,” Artorius replied with a sigh. “I guess after Lady Diana I just became a bit idealistic is all.”

Vitruvius snorted in reply. “To hell with idealism,” he retorted. “No good ever came from a man being stricken with love for a woman, at least not before he was married to her for a number of years. Don’t believe me? Look what happened to Marc Antony!”

“Do you love Celia?” Artorius asked.

Vitruvius gave a shrug.

“I’m rather fond of her,” he conceded. “And she did give me two extraordinary sons! I confess she is a good woman, but love?
In a few years, perhaps. You need to get such idealistic notions out of your mind. Only weak-willed effeminate poets write about such things as if they truly exist.”

“Yes, well
, I suppose I need to spend a bit more time in the brothels then,” the Optio replied with a grin and a wink. It was only partially true. Though he enjoyed the physical pleasures of women, Artorius felt a lingering and hollow feeling since he had last seen Diana two years before. Perhaps it was because he still got the occasional letter from her that he allowed himself to hope. But Vitruvius was right; any such fanciful notions were nothing more than a sappy poet’s fantasy. And besides, he had more pressing matters to concern himself with.

Chapter III: A Disgrace in the Ranks

***

During the first week after Macro’s replacement arrived, the situation had been even worse than Artorius had anticipated. Fulvius was fat, to the point that the Optio wondered if he even had a set of armor that fit. He reeked of wine and cheap booze the minute he stepped into the Century’s main office, and without a word he had stepped into the Centurion’s quarters and slammed the door. He was rarely seen the first few days, not once making a century formation. Artorius explained to the men that their new Centurion was ill and that he would make his appearance to them soon enough. It soon became apparent that he was performing the duties of both Optio and Centurion. It was at the end of the first week that Fulvius made his presence known, at least to Artorius.

“Optio!”
he shouted from the Centurion’s office.
“Where the bloody hell is my Optio?”
The legionary who had been assigned as the Centurion’s aide for the week was relieved when he saw that Artorius happened to be in the outer office. He quickly excused himself from the room as Artorius entered.

“You called for me,
Centurion?” The Optio stood with his hands clasped behind his back, trying to hide his revulsion at the sight of his superior. Fulvius looked to have sobered up, though he was in need of a shave and looked like he had not bathed in a week. He had a parchment in his hand, which Artorius recognized as the Century’s duty roster for the month.

“There is a problem with this,” Fulvius said, holding the document up accusingly.

“It’s the monthly roster,” Artorius explained. “Where is the problem?”

“Your judgment fails you I see,” the
Centurion said with a scowl. “The placement of legionaries on each duty seems to be done entirely at random. Those wishing to avoid the less desirable duties need to do so through a stipend to the Centurion.”

Artorius glared at him when he comprehended what Fulvius was saying.

“Each squad within the Century has an equal share of the burden,” he explained. “With the exception of those on
immune
status, all legionaries are required to pull the same duties.”

“No longer,” Fulvius retorted. “I want this list scrapped and revised with those who are willing to pay a stipend being exempt.”

“But that means the other legionaries will have to shoulder more of the burden!”

“Do you have a problem with that,
Optio?”
There was a sneer forming on Fulvius’ face as he used his rank to trump Artorius. He also seemed to note that not once had the Optio called him
sir
.

“To be perfectly blunt, yes
, I do!” Artorius was flabbergasted and not ready to back down without at least trying to make things right. “The Tesserarius and the Decanii spend an entire day each month working on that roster. What you are proposing will undermine the whole system, to say nothing of the issues of good order and discipline! And for what? So you can fatten your own coffers on their wages?”

Fulvius became enraged at this insubordination. He grabbed his vine stick and slammed it on the desk.

“Do you dare to tell me what my place is?”
he fumed. “It is perfectly within my rights to allow the men to offer a stipend to avoid placement on the duty roster!”

“You mean they can bribe you to get out of work,” Artorius growled. He knew he was losing this fight
, but he made sure his final point stuck. Fulvius then rushed towards him, holding his vine stick in front of him.

“You getting insubordinate with me, boy?” he snarled as Artorius remained rigid. “Perhaps I need to teach you a bit of a lesson.” As he started to pull his vine stick back, Artorius quickly reached up and grabbed the end of it, all the while remaining fixed in his spot with his other hand still clasped behind his back.

“Careful you don’t overstep your authority,” he said coolly. “A Centurion may use corporal punishment on legionaries, but to strike a Decanus or Principal Officer requires the approval of the Cohort Commander.” Fulvius attempted to pull his stick away, but Artorius kept his grip firm. “You should also know that a report for every such punishment must be sent forward to the Centurion Primus Pilus. So before you strike me, you might want to make sure you can get the approval of Lincinius. I don’t doubt he will give it to you. But I think you should also make certain once said punishment is executed, that Master Centurion Calvinus will find it was justifiable.”

As he released his grip on the vine stick, Artorius wondered if Fulvius would know he was partially bluffing. Certainly a
Centurion could strike any one of his men if he saw fit, advising the Cohort Commander later, if at all. In fact, Macro had struck Artorius with his vine stick on one occasion without anyone’s approval, and Artorius had been a Decanus at the time. The blow had been justified, and besides, Macro had a solid reputation of being stern but fair. Yet even if Fulvius was aware of Artorius’ bluff, he had to know that if he did strike his Optio, word of it would eventually reach Master Centurion Calvinus, who would want answers as to why a brand new Centurion with a spotty record was striking a highly decorated Optio on little more than a whim. Artorius had been candid and forceful with his statements to Fulvius, but at no time had he crossed the line to insubordination. Macro had always appreciated his candor, even if he did find it irritating from time to time.

Artorius forced himself to keep his composure and remain stoic as Fulvius slowly lowered his vine stick. His bluff had worked, it seemed. His
fleshy face was red with anger and he stood nose to nose with the Optio. Artorius almost gagged on his rotten breath, which stank of bile and sour wine.

“You may think that you run this century,
Optio,”
Fulvius whispered, his voice thick with venom. “There is a new order here. Your friend, Macro, isn’t here to protect you anymore. I have friends more powerful than you can possibly imagine. Remember that before I have you flogged and busted down to a mere ranker. Whether you like it or not, boy, I
own
you!”

Artorius left for the gym that evening in a seething rage. He was followed out by his friend, Praxus, who was also the Century’s Tesserarius.

“Hey Artorius!” he shouted, running to catch up to his friend. “
What the hell, man? What’s Fulvius doing, telling us to scrap the damned duty roster! He’s bringing back the practice of bribery for gods’ sake!”

Artorius spun and glared at his friend.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, his face red and the veins in his neck bulging. “Damn it, Praxus, I am fucking powerless to stop him if he wants to bring that practice back. Technically, what he’s doing is not illegal. And even if we all think it should be, we don’t set policy or regulation. What would you have me do?”

Praxus nodded his head and looked
down, apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Artorius. I just see where this will lead, and so do you. A couple of the lads may take Fulvius up on his offer
, and that alone will bugger up the duty rosters. I also know that if not enough of the lads start coming forward with bribes, he’ll start randomly punishing them for not fattening his purse. We’ve got to find a way to stop him. I don’t want the men to suffer needlessly because of him.”

At that moment they saw the door to the Century’s office open and the legionary who had been assigned as the
Centurion’s aide walked out. Whereas ten minutes prior his face had been unblemished, there was now an ugly black and blue mark across the left side of his face. His eye was swollen and purple.

“Here, Legionary!”
Artorius shouted to the young man, who quickly jogged over and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Sir?” the lad asked, trying to maintain his bearing.

“What the hell happened to you?” Artorius suspected he knew the answer.

“
Centurion said I was insubordinate, when he asked me if I would like to offer up a few coins to keep off the duty roster next month,” the soldier explained, “I respectfully declined, saying that my lady is expecting a child within a month, and I need all the coin I can get to care for her and my son or daughter. That’s all I said, sir, I swear.”

“And for that he said you were insubordinate?” Praxus asked, his face showing deep concern.

“Yes, sir. I promise there was no more said by me.” The legionary’s face showed signs of desperation as he did not know what to do and looked fearful. The young man had been in the army for just over six months and was still very new to the legions. It was not that he was a stranger to physical punishment.

Artorius had remembered lashing the soldier a couple of times himself during recruit training. This had always been as a means of correction during stake drills, weapons practice, or century maneuvers. It was never personal, and he never struck a recruit in the face. Roman society placed great emphasis on physical appearance, and for Fulvius to blatantly smash his vine stick across the young man’s face was a sign of great disrespect.

“It’s already starting,” Praxus said, looking over at his Optio, whose face tightened.

“Sirs, may I speak freely?” the legionary asked. He looked exasperated and in desperate need to voice his concerns to someone in authority.

“Walk with us,” Artorius replied, as he and Praxus tried to put as much distance between themselves and the Century’s billet, lest Fulvius be watching them.

“Sir, I understand the need for hard discipline in the legions,” the soldier said quickly, as if trying to say everything he could before it escaped him. “I’ve always borne my lashes with dignity, for they were always warranted. I have also spent time as an aide before. I got tasked to spend a week as
Centurion Macro’s aide right out of recruit training. I was scared out of my mind to be working so close to him, but he was alright. You and he have always been hard but fair with us. Punishments and rewards were always doled out based on our merits, nothing more or less. But now…” He stopped and lowered his head. His body was trembling slightly and it took every ounce of his resolve to keep his composure.

“Now rewards will be based on who bribes the
Centurion,” Praxus continued for him, “and punishments will come to those who are unable or unwilling to do so.”

“Forgive me sir,” the legionary said, maintaining his bearing once more. “I just do not know what to do. I have one more day left as his aide and I don’t know if I can go back there tomorrow…I hate that he hides behind his rank. He told me that if I dared to raise a hand to protect myself that he would have me flogged and then strangled! I know that in a fair fight I could break him…sorry
, sirs, I mean no disrespect to his position.”

“It is not you who disrespects his office,” Artorius replied finally. “We will do what we can. As for tomorrow, I know the Century is scheduled for a day-long road march
, so go have your face attended to and get some rest.”

“We are?” Praxus asked with a look of puzzlement on his face. As he caught Artorius’ stare, his eyes suddenly brightened. “Ah yes, of course. It will be good for the lads’ fitness since it is that time of year again.”

Artorius dreaded returning to the Century’s administrative office, but he knew he had no choice. Rufio, the Century’s Signifier, had made himself scarce at some point. Fulvius was sitting behind a desk with his feet up on it, drinking a cup of foul smelling wine. Drinking during duty hours was a severely punishable offense, regardless of one’s rank. Artorius decided to mind his tongue.

“You’ve got some discipline problems within this century I see,” Fulvius mused, waving his vine stick absentmindedly. “If you’re not quick to correct them, I will do it for you.”

“As part of maintaining order, as well as the men’s physical fitness, we are scheduled for a road march tomorrow,” Artorius replied. “Since it’s early in the spring we will keep it light, only about fifteen miles. It is customary for the
Centurion to lead us on these marches. It will give the men a chance to meet you in person.”

“Can’t,” Fulvius replied immediately, “got pressing business to take care of.
You’d best start pressing the men about my offers regarding the duty roster. I want to see results by the time you get back.”

It was late when Artorius and Vitruvius knocked on the door to Centurion Lincinius’ quarters. The Optio had explained the situation to his friend, who offered to go with him to help make his case to the Cohort Commander.

“We have to try and let the system work,”
Vitruvius had advised.

“Who the
hell is it knocking on my door at this hour?” They heard coming from inside the room. The outer office of the First Century was lit by a small oil lamp on the Signifier’s desk. As Lincinius opened the door he was surprised at the sight of the two men who greeted him.

“Oh,
Centurion Vitruvius,” he said with a nod. “Ah, and you are Optio…”

“Artorius,” the Optio replied. “Sir
, we need your help. I apologize for the hour, but this cannot wait.”

“Very well,” the Pilus Prior replied, coming out into the office. “What is it that requires you to wake your Cohort Commander in the middle of the night?” He tried to give off an air of authority, but the façade was weak and Lincinius appeared to know it. He was smaller in stature, a good two inches shorter than Artorius, with a frame that looked to be sixty to seventy pounds lighter than either of the other two men in the room.