Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (45 page)

Decimus removed his helmet as he stood before his
centurion. Macro placed the crown on his head, and then clasped his hand.

“
Legionary Decimus is the first soldier in the history of the Twentieth Legion to be awarded the Rampart Crown three times,” Macro stated.

Decimus saluted and returned to his place in formation.

“We also have several soldiers who have been selected to receive the Silver Torque for Valor,” Macro continued. “It is awarded for conspicuous acts of valor, above and beyond that normally expected of a Roman soldier.”

The names of several s
oldiers were called off, along with the deeds for which they were being recognized. Artorius was pleased to see Praxus was among those selected. As their names were read off, each soldier came forward and Macro presented him with the Silver Torque. Artorius was shocked when he heard his name called.

“Legionary Artorius
, you are awarded the Silver Torque for Valor for conspicuous acts of gallantry during the assault on the Cherusci stronghold, and for personally killing Cherusci War Chief Ingiomerus.”

Artorius could not describe his feelings as he walked up to receive the award from his
centurion. Macro handed the torque to Artorius and then clasped his hand firmly.

“Well done,
soldier,” he said softly. “Your valor is a credit to this century and to your legion.”

Artorius saluted and marched back to his place in formation.

“We have two more awards to hand out, and for these we need to bring back an old friend of the century,” Macro said. He face and his tone betrayed his emotion as he turned his head and called out over his shoulder,
“Optio Valgus, step forward!”

There was an audible gasp as the
century watched their former optio come walking around the dais. He was in full parade dress, and though he now required a walking stick, he had lost none of his presence or aura. With him was a rather comely woman dressed in a resplendent stola. She was very pretty and statuesque, and Artorius surmised she must be Vitruvius’ sister. In their former optio’s right hand were two simple crowns made of oak leaves. Artorius was impressed when he saw the number of awards Valgus had been presented over his career, a career that had been cut short by a German spear. Valgus faced the century as he addressed them.

“The highest award a s
oldier of Rome, or any Roman citizen for that matter, can receive is the Civic Crown,” he stated. “It is for acts of valor while saving the life of a fellow citizen. For no greater act can one perform in the service of Rome than protecting its citizens. As brothers-in-arms, this has an even deeper and more personal meaning. I am here to present two of these awards to the men who saved my life at Ahenobarbi.” He then nodded to Centurion Macro, who read off the award citation.

“Optio Vitruvius and Sergeant Statorius
, you are both awarded the Civic Crown for distinguished acts of valor in saving the life of a fellow citizen and soldier of Rome. Your valor and selfless devotion to your fellow legionaries is of the highest caliber and sets the utmost in standards of conduct representing yourself, the Twentieth Legion and the Army of the Rhine.”

Each man removed their helmets as Valgus placed the crowns on their respective heads. They then clasped the hand of their old friend before returning to their place in formation. Once all awards had been presented, it was time fo
r them to form up for the parade.

The parade extended for
miles, and the soldiers were only a small part of it. At the head was Germanicus in an ornamental chariot. His children accompanied him and were dressed in their finest splendor. Next, were the most prominent senators and magistrates. Severus rode at the head of these, along with the legates and chief tribunes from each legion. Enemy prisoners of war, few as there were, were next. They were marched together in shackles, heads hung low in shame. Surprisingly, amongst these was Thusnelda, the “liberated” wife of Arminius, though she was spared the ignominy of being chained. In her arms she carried her infant son, whom she had named Thumelicus. As she passed the reviewing stands, she glared at her father, who was a guest of honor amongst the Roman dignitaries. Thusnelda had learned only the day before that the price of her and her son being allowed to live was that they be paraded before Rome as prisoners of war during the triumph. She bore the insult with silent dignity, not wishing to do anything that might jeopardize her son’s life. Little did she know, part of the deal struck with Segestes was that his daughter would never be allowed to return to Germania, and her son would be sent to the gladiatorial school in Ravenna once he came of age.

Following
the prisoners were wagons containing all the stockpiles of loot and plunder taken on the campaign. There was not as much as one would expect, but it was still an impressive sight. The two trophies that Germanicus had erected were displayed amongst these. The soldiers themselves came last, though Artorius was certain they received the loudest cheers and accolades.

He looked around at his friends
and companions. All were proudly displaying their newly won medals and awards, along with the awards that some of them had earned on previous campaigns. As they passed the reviewing platform where the Emperor stood, they drew their gladii as one and saluted. Tiberius returned their salute, his face rock hard, eyes glowing with pride. Artorius thought about Magnus’ words from the other night. His friend was right,
here
was Rome. Rome
did
live in these brave men that he had fought alongside. No matter where they went, Rome would be, Her eternal spirit never leaving them.

At the end of the march, Artorius was tired but elated. As he returned to camp, he knew he would be unable to sleep. All he could think about was seeing his father again the next day, hoping he would be proud of him. He found himself walking alone along an isolated path when he saw a lone legionary gazing off into the hills with his back to him, arms folded across his chest. The sun was coming down, and it gleamed off the soldier’s armor. Artorius removed his helmet and walked up to the man.

“The evenings are beautiful this ti
me of year,” the man said without turning as Artorius approached.

His voice somehow seemed familiar, but he could not fathom from where, like something he
’d not heard for a very long time.

“Yes
, they are,” he replied. “Makes one feel good to be alive.”

“Quite. You know
, Artorius,”
he said softly, “Mother wanted me to tell you she loves you, and that she is very proud of you.”

“Excuse me?”
Artorius felt the veins in his neck start to quickly pulse as he tried to make out the man’s face. “Who are you, and how do you know my name? And how
dare
you mention my mother!”

The l
egionary gave a loud sigh, removed his helmet, and faced him. Artorius gasped, his breath taken from him. He dropped his helmet and fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. He knew that face, its image was permanently burned into his mind, though he had not seen it for many years.

“It cannot be,” he breathed as he shook his head. He
squeezed his eyes shut, unable to believe what he saw. When he opened them again, the man still stood there. He found himself unable to control the surge of emotions that welled inside of him and fought to control his speech and his senses. “You’re dead. I buried you myself.”

“Yes
, you did,” Metellus replied, “and by doing so, you brought peace to my tortured soul. For six years I floated between the paradise of the Afterlife and the agonizing pains of this world. So many of us were unable to find peace after our lives were ended with such savagery. And yet, I took solace and pride in seeing my little brother become a man. I have watched you, Artorius. I have watched you grow strong and powerful in both mind and body. You have the opportunity to accomplish great things in your life. You have learned to control your emotions and your hatred. Do not ever let them control you or your soul will never find peace in the next life.”

“How is it that I can see you?” Artorius asked, rising to his feet. “I have not gone mad, have I?”

Metellus laughed at that.

“No
, you haven’t. I have been graced with this moment to reassure you my soul is finally at rest, as is Mother’s. My time here is short, and I must leave you.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Artorius asked.

Metellus contemplated his response. “Not for a very long time,” he said at last. “That is all I know. Artorius, I do not know what your future holds. Though I know we will not meet again for a very long time. Continue to grow stronger, live justly, and I promise you
will
see me again.” With that, Metellus turned and started to walk up a short slope that faced into the setting sun. As he reached the top, he turned and faced Artorius one last time, raising his hand in a salute. “Well done, little brother.”

Chapter XXIX: Soldiers of Rome

***

“We may have destroyed his army, but the wolf himself still escaped,” Germanicus said. He sat in a chair while the Emperor stood looking out a window, his hands clasped behind his back.

“The wolf of which you speak is now nothing more than an impotent sheep,” Tiberius replied. “Did you know we received a deputation from some tribal leaders that survived the campaign? They offered to give me the head of Arminius in exchange for our assurance that we will not invade again.”

“And what did you tell them?” Germanicus asked.

Tiberius turned and faced his nephew. “I laughed in their face, that’s what I did. I told them Rome did not need to employ such underhanded tactics in order to win our wars. I told them to pray that we never crossed the Rhine again, and that they never give us reason to. Don’t you see? Arminius has fallen. He no longer commands the respect of his fellow war chiefs. They are willing to hand him over to us, when seven years ago they practically revered him as a god. I would be surprised if the Cherusci even survive this as a tribe and nation. They took the brunt of the casualties and have scattered to the winds. No, my son, I have more important work for you.” With that he turned back to the window. Germanicus stood and placed his hands behind his back.

“How may I be of service, Caesar?” he asked.

“I need strong leadership in the east. As you know, the Parthians are always causing trouble. I need somebody who can keep them in check and protect our interests in the Eastern Empire.”

“And what of Piso?” Germanicus asked, referring to a
legate in the east whom he mistrusted greatly.

“Piso has done nothing unlawful that I can pinpoint directly,” Tiberius answered. “He was appointed by the Divine Augustus and has
, thus far, been steadfastly loyal and a good friend. However, I do question some of his methods and motives. Use your discretion. However, do not just go firing legates and appointed officials simply because they disagree with your policies.”

“Yes
, Caesar, how soon do you want me to depart?”

“The sooner the better.  Arrange to have your baggage sent after you.  I need your eyes in the East as soon as possible.”

Later that evening, Germanicus stopped by to see his mother. Antonia w
as the daughter of Marc Anthony and widow of Tiberius’ brother, Drusus. She was also one of the few people whom Tiberius cherished as a friend. He had never forgotten what she had meant to his brother, and when Drusus died he promised he would always look after her.

Antonia sat reading by lamplight. She was more handsome than pretty, and age had taken its toll on her. She was a stoic in the deepest sense of the word, though she could never truly hide her emotions from her eldest son. She allowed herself a slight smile as Germanicus walked into the room. He was physically tired and mentally exhausted
. However, he knew that this may be the only opportunity he had to see his family before he left for the east. Antonia stood and embraced her son.

“I was beginning to think you were going to leave wi
thout saying goodbye,” she said with a slight scold in her voice.

“How can I say goodbye when I haven’t even had a chance to say hello?” Germanicus laughed.

They made their way over to a couple of lounge chairs in the foyer.

“You have
done admirably,” Antonia remarked. “I see more and more of your father in you every time I see you. I’m certain he’s proud of you, wherever he may be.” She gazed upward at her last remark.

Germanicus followed her stare into the unknown. There was a long silence before he spoke again.

“I see that you are doing well, Mother. How is Claudius? I stopped by to see him, but he wasn’t home.”

Antonia’s face turned into a scowl at the mention of her youngest son. She was embarrassed by him, though it gave her no pleasure admitting it. She was convinced he was a half-wit and a fool to be pushed aside and out of the way.

“He is here, out back,” she answered, nodding towards the gardens, “avoiding his wife, I don’t doubt.”

Germanicus stared at his mother, eyes ever questioning.
“Why do you hate him so, Mother?”

The question took Antonia aback.
“I don’t
hate
any of my children! What a monstrous thing to say!”

“I can see it in your eyes, in the way you talk to him. Maybe you don’t hate him, but you
are
embarrassed by him.”

“
Who wouldn’t be?” Antonia asked with a frown. “The gods only know what your father would have done with him.” She turned and looked away, anxious for the conversation to be over.

Germanicus’ expression never changed.
“I’m not embarrassed by him,” he said earnestly.

“Have you said hello to your sister?” Antonia asked, turning back towards him.

When Germanicus looked down she cracked a half smile. “Oh no, you’re not embarrassed by your brother, but ashamed of your sister.”

“It’s not that I’m
ashamed of Livilla, I just don’t care for her very much.” Germanicus’ face hardened as his mother raised an eyebrow at the remark. “At least I can admit it, Mother. She’s a wicked, scheming little girl.”

“You could still give her the courtesy of a visit,” Antonia replied, placing her hand on his.

Germanicus nodded. “Alright, I’ll try and be nicer to Livilla if you’ll stop acting so unkind towards Claudius. Now, I’m going to go and see him.” With that he kissed his mother on the cheek and walked out through the archway leading to the palace gardens.

Night had long since fallen when Germanicus went to find his brother. As he passed by a fountain, he saw a glimmer of light coming from a lamp. He smiled as he saw Claudius sitting on a bench, reading and writing in the dim light.

Germanicus sighed at the sight of his brother. It wasn’t fair, really. He had been blessed with a superior physique, a sound constitution
, and had been fortunate in his military career. His brother, on the other hand, suffered from a bad limp caused by a club foot, his head twitched uncontrollably at times, and he had a tendency to stutter. Because of this, many had thought him to be mentally incompetent. This was, of course, nonsense. Claudius was an accomplished scholar and historian. He was the author of several books pertaining to Etruscan and early Roman history. Germanicus had read most of them and was an avid admirer of his brother’s works.

“Am I disturbing you?” Germanicus asked.

“N…n…no, not at all,” Claudius replied. He continued to write for a few more seconds before setting everything beneath the bench. He motioned for his brother to have a seat with him.

“It’s been a long time since we last had a chance to just sit and talk,” Germanicus observed.

“T…too long,” Claudius stuttered, his head twitching slightly. “Tell me, b…brother, how long will you be in Rome?”

“Just a few more days, unfortunately,” Germanicus sighed. “I’ve been re
assigned to the East, and there is much to do before I leave. I plan on seeing our old friend Herod before I leave. That is, if I can get Drusus to let him stay sober long enough for me to get some useful first-hand information out of him about the province.”

Claudius laughed at that. Herod Agrippa was a dear friend of his, though he admitted that his Judean friend, who was the grandson of Herod the Great, did seem to enjoy
Rome’s excessive vices a little too much. In spite of this, the Emperor was rather fond of him, and he and Drusus were practically inseparable.

“I admit I am a bit surprised to see you out here,” Germanicus said. “I heard about your marriage and met your wife when I stopped by to see you.”

Claudius dropped his head and looked away disappointed. “My m…marriage is n…nothing but a joke, a cruel and t…twisted joke,” he replied sulkily. “It was our grandmother who arranged it. I think she did it out of s…spite.” It was common knowledge that Livia had never cared for her handicapped grandson, and it was she who spoke most openly about his mental ineptitude. Many, including Germanicus, felt that Claudius exaggerated his afflictions when he was around her and intentionally made himself out to be a bigger fool than he was. Perhaps it was just so people would leave him in peace.

“Well
, your wife’s face is not unpleasant to look at,” Germanicus replied, soothingly. “Truth is she’s fairly attractive.”

“L…like I ever get a chance to see her face!” Claudius retorted. “The woman stands more than a foot t…taller than me. Frankly, I think she was in
on the joke along with everyone else”.

“I think she’s a foot taller than
most men I know,” Germanicus said, stifling a laugh.

This
, in turn, caused Claudius to laugh in spite of himself.

“Dear brother, it
is
good to see you again.” He placed a hand on Claudius’ shoulder for emphasis.

Sometimes Claudius felt that Germanicus was all he had in the world. He had been just an infant when his father died. His mother blamed him for many of their family’s follies, and his sister…
well, he preferred not to even think about Livilla. He tolerated her only because she was married to Drusus, who was their cousin and also one of his best friends. No, Germanicus was the only person Claudius ever really felt comfortable around.

“So tell me about what you saw in Germania,” he inquired, his stutter having gone away.

Germanicus paused and lowered his head.
“Teutoburger Wald was a
terrible
sight. There was very little left of the bodies, though from what we could still gather all had been horribly mutilated. Many had been tortured brutally in some disgusting ritual that only barbarians could appreciate.” Germanicus paused, obviously vexed at the memory. He stared at the ground, drawn into the flood of memories, especially the battles where they destroyed Arminius. “But we avenged them. Oh yes, our vengeance was brutal, and it was twice as savage as anything they had ever witnessed. We spared no one.” He then told Claudius of the campaigns of the past two years, the climactic battle at Idistaviso, and the subsequent sacking of the Germanic stronghold.

“I wish I could have been there to see it all,” Claudius sighed, looking away. The longer he was around Germanicus, the more his stutter seemed to vanish. “There is only so much one can gather from reading books. You have the knowledge that only life experience can give. I admit that I am envious at times.”

“Don’t be.” Germanicus retorted. “You have a lot to give, dear brother. I don’t know how or when, but I know that some day you will be destined for great things. Some day
you
will be the protector of Rome.”

“You place too much on superstitions, brother,” Claudius replied.

Germanicus had been referring to an incident when they were both children. An augur had witnessed a pair of fighting eagles drop a wolf cub from the sky. Claudius had caught the cub in his tunic, which the augur was certain signified that one day he would become the savior and protector of Rome. Claudius had never put faith in omens, unlike his brother.

“Yes, I may be superstitious,” Germanicus replied. “In fact
, it is something my men say is a shortcoming. But I believe that some things
are
predestined by the Divine. Do not shy away from your destiny, Claudius. It will come to you some day, when you least expect it.”

Claudius smiled at the thought. Germanicus’ passion almost made him believe it.

The two brothers talked away the rest of the night. In the morning, Claudius escorted Germanicus to the house of their friend, Herod Agrippa. In a few days Germanicus would leave for the east. Claudius did not realize then that it would be the last time he would ever see his beloved brother.

It was over. His lifelong campaign to rid
Germania of the Roman scourge was over. Arminius lay underneath the stars and contemplated it all. He had been lucky enough to escape from the stronghold when the Romans stormed it. Many had not. Now his fellow war chiefs, the few who survived, were offering his head to the Romans whom they had sworn to fight until the very last. Ha! Did they not appreciate the accomplishments he had made? He had driven the Romans west of the Rhine, from which he knew they would never return. Their expeditions of the last two years had been for vengeance, not re-conquest. The Roman invaders would never again occupy the lands east of the Rhine. That had to account for something. Crops could be re-sown, homes could be rebuilt, and the people who survived would once again repopulate the region. He truly
had
liberated all the peoples of Germania, even if he had been defeated on the battlefield.