Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (9 page)

“Perfect,” Sejanus said with a sly grin. “The
ideal place to place someone of little importance.”

“Yes,” Tiberius continued. “That vile
prick Gallus gets pacified for a little while and his pawn is sent off to where he can do no harm to the Empire or to us.”

“Tesserarius Gaius Praxus,”
Artorius boomed as he held up the Optio’s staff of office, which Praxus clutched as well. “You are hereby promoted to the rank of
Optio.
Should I fall in battle, who will lead my men?”

“I will
, Centurion!”
Praxus responded in a loud voice. Artorius then nodded and released his grip on the staff.

“Rah!”
the entire Century shouted with a quick raise of their gladii as Praxus took up his new position behind the formation. Artorius then addressed his men.

“Sergeant Magnus!” The Decanus b
riskly marched forward, saluted, and faced his Centurion. “You are hereby promoted to the rank of
Tesserarius.”
Another shout came from the ranks as Magnus accepted his promotion orders.

The selection of Magnus’ successor had been a difficult one. In Artorius’ mind, Valens was the logical choice; however, the legionary had vehemently protested against this. It baffled the
Centurion that one who had more time in the legions and had seen more combat than even himself would be content as a lowly ranker. Valens was not even a specialist with
immune
status. Still, whatever his reasons were, Artorius respected them. In the end, he found a soldier with adequate experience and a solid service record to replace Magnus as Decanus.

“You thought I was going to select you as my Optio, didn’t you?”

The question to
ok Magnus aback, and he almost choked on his wine. Though Artorius had promised a drink with all of the men he had just promoted, he needed some time with his best friend first. Magnus swallowed his drink, calmly set his cup down, and folded his hands on the table.

“Absolutely not,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And if you had selected me I would have told you that you were out of your fucking mind.”

Artorius cocked his head to one side, a puzzled grin crossing his face. “I don’t see what would be so mindless about that,” he retorted. “After all, you are one of the most decorated, charismatic, and capable leaders within the century. The men would follow you anywhere.”

“Perhaps,” Magnus replied with a shrug. “I didn’t say that I’m not qualified for the position; far from it. I am just not
the
most qualified. Praxus would have been my choice too, were I in your position. He is your friend, yes. That being said, the lads all know he is the most experienced and level-headed of all of us.”

“
That and being my friend does not get a man any favors.”

“Yeah, so I’ve noticed,” Magnus remarked with a roll of the eyes.

Artorius sat back, the look of shock on his face causing the Norseman to burst into laughter.

“Oh come on, I’m kidding.” He reached across the table and smacked his friend across the shoulder for emphasis.

“Well, yeah, if being my friend did get you one special privilege, you know you would have been my first choice for Optio,” the Centurion replied with a relieved sigh. Magnus’ sarcasm had almost made him believe for a second that the Norseman was unhappy that he had not been selected for the position and had to settle with being the Century’s Tesserarius.

“Still,” Artorius continued, “does it ever feel strange to you? I mean, that I passed you up on promotion even though we have both served the exact same amount of time.”

“I’ll get there soon enough,” Magnus replied with another shrug. “I’ll make my move after I’ve watched you fall on your face a few times, so I learn what not to do.”

The dry humor was enough to bring a chuckle and sigh of relief from Artorius as the two men finished their drinks.

Artorius stood at the head of the column of men from the Second Century, this time as their
Centurion. He still wore his issued set of lorica segmentata armor. He had ordered a set of chain mail armor, known as the lorica hamata, to be custom made. He liked protection offered by the segmentata, but a Centurion was supposed to purchase his own armor, and all wore either scale or mail since it was more comfortable and allowed the wearer greater mobility. He had at first protested against this, knowing that the segmentata offered far greater protection, but it was an argument he ultimately lost. Since his armor would not be ready for at least a month, he stuck to wearing his issued segmentata. After his armor was delivered he would turn his old suit in, though as he told the armor master, “Good luck finding another legionary that it will fit.” The customary harness that he would wear, showing all of his awards and decorations, was also being made. Legionary Decimus, who worked in the leather shop, had promised he would have it ready by the end of the week. Artorius had managed to acquire an appropriate Centurion’s crest made of red dyed horsehair, which he had attached to his helmet.

“Century!”
he boomed as he looked back at the column of men. His heart was bursting with pride from the professional look of his legionaries. All were in full body armor with shield, javelins, and a bulging pack. Today’s march would be a full twenty-five miles. They would set up a camp for the night and head back in the morning.
“Forward…march!”

A feeling of elation washed over Artorius as he led his men out the gate of the fortress. The knowledge that he was now a
Centurion was finally becoming a reality to him. Rufio was at his side with the Century’s Signum. Magnus, now the Tesserarius, was at the front of the legionaries. Optio Praxus walked in the very back where his purpose was to monitor the pace and watch for stragglers. Diana was standing by the gate and raised her hand, her pride in Artorius evident as she waved to them as they passed through, a broad smile on her face.

“
Ave, my lady!”
the legionaries shouted in unison, causing Artorius’ face to turn red and a playful laugh from Diana.

“Did you put them up to that?” Artorius asked over his shoulder.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Magnus replied, his broad grin revealing his guilt.

Artorius had tried to
set their departure to coincide with the time between sunrise and when the streets of Cologne became crowded with citizens about their daily business. As they marched through the streets, shopkeepers who were opening up their places of business stopped to watch them pass by. A few small children even waved at them. A variety of street urchins stumbled beside the column, imitating the legionaries’ march. Once out of town it was rolling hills, copses of trees, and fields as far as the eye could see.

It was still the first part of spring, and the air was cool. Still, the sun shone brightly and the exertion of the march felt good. The Century kept a modest pace of roughly three miles an hour. This was reasonable for men who were weighted down with armor, weapons, and full packs. The nights in Germania were still chilly this time of year, so each man had his cloak stuffed into his pack. Artorius closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Whether it was the relief of the recent ordeals being over, the fact that he now commanded the Second Century, or if it really was just the most beautiful of days, he did not know; nor did he care. The miles seemed to slip by, and by midday they had already covered nearly twenty miles.
At twenty-five miles Artorius pointed to the top of a small hill with a single tree adorning the top.

“Place the standard up there,” he directed Rufio.

“Yes sir,” the Signifier replied, taking off at a moderate jog up the gentle slope of the hill. Once at the top, he found a good place over by the tree to post the standard. The rest of the Century would form up around him. He slammed the spiked bottom of the Signum into the ground, drew his gladius, and gave a loud battle cry.

“Second Century!”
Artorius shouted.
“At the double-time…action left…to the standard!”

A loud shout echoed from the ranks as the Century did a sharp left face and then
, in step, started to jog up the hill. Once they came to where Rufio stood, his gladius still raised, they split off to the left and right, the Decanii guiding their squads to the appropriate staging areas. Magnus oversaw the placement while Artorius and Praxus stopped in front of Rufio. The Centurion was breathing hard, but still grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re sweating, sir,” Rufio
observed as he sheathed his gladius.

Artorius and Praxus
dropped their packs and removed their helmets, sweat trickling down their necks and faces. “A Centurion never carries his own pack either.”

“Soldiers will follow those who foremost lead by example,” Artorius retorted. He then
looked around and saw that the Century was all positioned where they needed to be.

“A bit out of practice, but they’ve still got it,” Praxus observed.

Artorius gave an affirmative nod before shouting his next order.
“Stack your gear and weapons by squads! Set up sentry shifts…Decanii report when complete!”

Shields were set upright with a single javelin holding it in place. Legionaries paired up and helped each other out of their heavy armor, each man stac
king his in front of his shield then placing his helmet on top. Gladii were still worn on the hip. In lieu of palisade stakes, each soldier took his second javelin and stuck it, butt first and angled, in the ground on the outside of their section; a wall of evenly spaced javelins forming their perimeter. A pair of legionaries guarded the front entrance of their small camp, two more the back. Within minutes of Artorius giving the order the entire camp was set and all squad leaders gathered in his area. He and the Principal Officers had also removed their armor and, in spite of the cool spring afternoon, each man had perspired freely from the exertion of the march.

“Well done,” he told the assembled squad leaders. “Check your men for blisters
on the feet and any other health problems that may have arisen. Also spot check their equipment, especially their caligae sandals, and make certain they’re still serviceable. After that the men can rest and break for their afternoon meal.”

“Yes
, sir,” the Decanii answered together before departing.

Artorius walked over to the large shade tree and sat down against it, removing his sandals.

“Damn that feels good!” he told Praxus, who sat across from him on the grass, also removing his footwear.

“You chose the perfect day to take the men out,” the Optio replied. “I think after all they’ve been through, they needed this. Doubtless they will be cursing the cold come nightfall, but for now all is right with them.”

“I put the word out that they all needed to pack at least an extra blanket,” Artorius reminded him. “I’m the worst when it comes to the cold, so if I can handle it they should be just fine.”

As he finished speaking Rufio and Magnus walked over. The Signifier was eating an apple and stretching out his back.

“Any thoughts on what you want the lads to do for the rest of the day?” Magnus asked. “I know we’re not in hostile territory, so the men can be more at ease. I just thought we’d have something for them to do this afternoon.”

“There’s wild boar in this region,” Praxus observed. “Maybe some of our best javelin throwers should be sent off on a little hunt.”

“I like it,” Artorius agreed. “Have each squad send its best javelin thrower out. They’ll all go together, I don’t want anyone getting lost or gored by a boar. Tell them five denarii awaits whoever brings down a boar with his javelin first. Have some of the others dig us a pit and gather firewood, also have them refill our water bladders with fresh spring water; there’s a source nearby. Provided our javelin throwers hit their targets, we should have us some spitted boar for supper.”

That evening would see the Second Century gathered over a large fire, a pair of boars roasting on spits. To no one’s surprise, Legionary Gavius had proven his mettle as the best javelin thrower in the Century, downing a running boar from a distance of nearly
twenty meters. Another legionary had brought down a boar as well, after a struggle in a thicket. Even though Gavius had killed his first, Artorius had elected to grant both men the five denarii stipend, which was approximately a week’s pay for a legionary.