by James Mace
“We will speak no more of this,” Lincinius said with finality, though he dared not look either of the men in the face. “Do not trouble me with this again.” Immediately he walked back into his quarters and closed the door.
“I wonder if he’ll hide underneath the blankets and hope that we are gone,” Vitruvius spat.
“Regardless,” Artorius replied, “now my men really are on their own.”
Artorius brooded over the events from the night before as he led the Second Century on a march up the road, away from Cologne. The men marched in body armor, though they left helmets, shields, and javelins behind. Each wore his gladius and carried just some rations in his pack. The winter months on the Rhine were unsuitable for marching, and in spite of their best efforts, the men’s fitness always suffered slightly as a result. A few weeks would get them back into shape soon enough. There was a lot of tension in the air, and he suspected that all of the men dreaded the thought of returning to the fortress. He could not say he blamed them at all.
That night as Artorius and Vitruvius walked in silence past the Century’s barracks, they heard a loud cry coming from inside the main office. The men stopped and stared at each other.
“Dear gods, he’s done it again,” Artorius said quickly as he turned and raced towards the sound, which was now accompanied by the echo of a loud slapping sound. Vitruvius was on his heels as Artorius burst into the office.
On the floor in a pool of blood lay the hapless legionary who had been tasked with being Centurion Fulvius’ aide for the week. His head was covered in numerous cuts and abrasions. Blood was oozing from several nasty gashes, as well as from his left ear. His tunic was torn, showing nasty scouring along his back. The Centurion himself had a glazed look in his eye, his chest heaving with his exertions, and a broken wine jug in one hand and his vine stick in the other. Bloodied pieces of the jug lay on the floor, a sign that the young legionary had been hit repeatedly with the jug, as well as the vine stick.
“What is the meaning of this?” Artorius snapped, all sense of protocol having vanished in the horror of what he saw.
“Not your concern, Optio,” Fulvius sneered. “This worthless pile of dog shit knocked over and shattered one of my wine goblets! And now he’s paying the price for his clumsiness.”
“A clay wine goblet that cost you nothing!” Vitruvius observed. “This is an outrage and an abuse of the power given to you!”
“Back off, Vitruvius!” Fulvius roared. “I do not tell you how to run your century, don’t you dare come in here and tell me how to run mine!” He quickly stepped back as Vitruvius moved towards him. “Don’t even think about it! You may be the greatest hand-to-hand fighter to have ever lived, but I have friends, Vitruvius; powerful friends who would break you and your career at a simple snap of the fingers!” As he turned towards the fallen legionary he raised his vine stick once more. He would thrash the poor man some more, just to spite the two men witnessing. As he brought the stick down once more in a hard smash, Artorius leapt forward and stopped the blow with his Optio’s staff.
“Enough!” he growled through clenched teeth. Fulvius started to laugh.
“You daring to challenge me, boy?” he said in mock surprise. With surprisingly quick reflexes he threw the remains of the wine jug at Artorius. It shattered against the Optio’s shoulder as the Centurion drew his gladius and swung it in a hard back slash. The weapon cleaved through the staff and Artorius quickly stepped back, instinctively drawing his own gladius.
Fulvius lunged forward, his sword raised high to smash down on him. In doing so, he violated one of the most basic rules of legionary close combat; that one never slashes with the gladius. Artorius rushed in and grabbed his sword arm by the wrist, kneeing him hard in the groin. The Centurion let out a loud groan as his breath was taken from him. His gladius fell from his hand, his eyes wide in terror as Artorius slammed him into the wall, his own weapon pointed at his throat.
“You will never harm another one of my men again!” the Optio said quietly into his ear. With a blinding, cold hatred he had not felt in years he slammed the gladius into the side of Fulvius’ neck. The jugular burst by the razor-sharp blade, spraying forth dark crimson; the wicked man’s windpipe cleaved in two as Artorius drove his weapon home. The Centurion tried to gasp, but his breath was cut off by the sword that ran through his neck. Blood gushed in torrents onto Artorius’ arms as he held the man upright against the wall, his fat, grotesque body twitching pathetically. As his victim’s eyes clouded over and rolled into the back of his head, Artorius jerked his weapon free and let the body fall. It slid down slowly, staining the wall with streaks of blood. Fulvius continued to spasm as blood and spittle spewed from his mouth, as well as the sides of his ruptured neck. Artorius dropped his gladius onto the nearest table and ran to check on the legionary, who was still unconscious on the floor. Vitruvius immediately regained his composure, in spite of what he had just witnessed, and knelt down to help him.
“He’s been beaten pretty badly,” he observed as Artorius ran his hands over the man, checking the extent of his injuries.
“He’s got some broken ribs and nasty cuts, but at least his skull is still intact,” the Optio replied. The legionary coughed quietly and tried to open his eyes.
“Optio…Artorius,” he whispered through the blood and slobber that caked his lips.
“It’s alright son,” Artorius replied. “He won’t be hurting you, or anyone else, anymore.” Just then two legionaries rushed into the office through the still open door, gladii drawn.
“What the fuck happened?” one of the men asked.
“Get a medic,” Artorius ordered. “This man is badly hurt and needs to be taken to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir,” the legionary replied. It was only then that they noticed the corpse of their Centurion. It was sitting partially upright, blood still running down each side of the neck like a macabre waterfall, his tongue protruding from the side of his mouth. The two legionaries could not help but smile.
“Nicely done,” one of them whispered.
“Gods damn it!” Artorius snapped. “What part of ‘get a medic’ did you two not understand?” The legionaries immediately left the office after a brief tousle when they both tried to get out the door first. Artorius could not make out what was said between the two, but one started for the hospital, while the other ran back towards the barracks.
“The whole bloody legion will know about this before the hour is up,” Vitruvius observed with a scowl.
“That they will,” Artorius replied. He then gave the legionary a final assessment before rising to his feet. Walking over to the table he picked up his gladius and stared at the blood-soaked blade. He then looked over at the man he had just slain and allowed himself a defiant sneer of his own.
“Where are your powerful friends now?” he mocked. Taking a deep breath he became serious once more. He turned and faced Vitruvius, glancing one more time at his weapon and wiped it off with a rag on the table before offering it to the Centurion, pommel first. “You have to place me under arrest, you know.”
“Look Artorius…”
“Now is not the time to get sentimental,” the Optio stressed. “Vitruvius, you are my friend, but I have committed murder.”
“Murder of a vile man, who was about to needlessly kill one of our own men!” the Centurion spat, reluctantly taking the gladius from Artorius.
“That may be,” Artorius agreed, “but Fulvius was right when he said that he has powerful friends. They won’t stop until I have been strangled for his execution. I knew when I killed him that I was sacrificing myself by doing so. And yet…I could not allow him to harm another one of my men! If my own life is the price to be paid for their safety, then it is a price I am willing to pay.” Vitruvius remained silent as he walked over to where Fulvius had dropped his gladius. The Centurion picked up the weapon and placed it next to the dead man’s hand.
“The record will show that he was stil
l armed and posing a direct threat when you defended yourself,” Vitruvius explained. Artorius gave a hapless grin and nodded.
The office became alive with activity as one of the legionaries returned with a team of medics from the hospital just as Praxus and Rufio returned. Magnus was also standing in the doorway with a large group of legionaries. The medics ignored the rest of the men and immediately began to work on the injured soldier.
“Shit,” Magus said quietly as he stared at the slain Centurion. “Well done!”
“Sergeant Magnus!” Vitruvius barked. “You will place Optio Artorius under arrest on the charge of murder. Take him to the guard house at once.” Magnus looked over at Artorius and was immediately berated by the Centurion. “At the double, damn you!”
Artorius gave an affirmative nod to Magnus, who swallowed hard and signaled for several legionaries to come with him. The two men’s gazes met, and the Norseman did not know whether to be elated at the death of the hated Centurion or terrified for his friend. Vitruvius followed them out into the night, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend and protégé being marched to the guard house by the very men whose lives he had possibly saved. It was a gross injustice, but he knew there was nothing they could do about it.
“Vitruvius.” The Centurion was startled out of his thoughts by Praxus, who stood right next to him, his face full of vexation. “What the hell happened?”
“That is for the courts to decide,” Vitruvius replied as he marched off into the blackness.
Chapter IV: Soul Forged
***
Diana approached the gate of the fortress at Cologne. She had never been to Germania, and though the province fascinated her, it was not what she wished to see. For Diana Procula was finally taking a journey for herself and not on the whims of others.
She was taller than most women, with strong shoulders and extremely powerful legs, molded on years of horseback riding. Though well muscled, she was at the same time very feminine, her stunning face and deep-set grayish blue eyes masking her strength. She wore a form fitted tunic and high cut riding breaches, with a legionary gladius strapped to her hip. Between her attire and with her shoulder length hair dyed a dark blonde, one would almost mistake her for a German or Gaul, rather than a Roman noblewoman.
She stopped her horse just shy of the gate. Two legionaries from the First Legion, Germanica, were on duty. She dismounted and walked towards the men.
“Good day, ma’am,” one of the men said. “If you’re wishing to enter the fortress, you’ll have to check your horse in at the stables, just inside the gate. Also, no weapons are allowed inside.”
“I see,” Diana replied with a sigh.
“Who are you here to see, miss?” the other soldier asked.
“Optio Artorius,” she replied. “He’s with the Third Cohort of the Twentieth Legion.”
“Artorius…” the first legionary said while thinking for a moment, his face suddenly brightening. “Oh sure, I know who he is! He’s Valeria’s Legion Champion. He has been for a few years now.”
“Isn’t he the one who got himself into a spot of trouble recently?” the other soldier asked, causing his companion to smack him in the stomach with the butt of his javelin.
“Excuse me?” Diana asked, suddenly concerned. She had not received word from Artorius for several months now. They had written sporadically to each other since his return from Gaul, but he had never mentioned any trouble.
“Sorry ma’am,” the first soldier replied. “Something we can’t talk about…um, is there anyone else here you know?”
“Yes,” Diana replied, suddenly agitated. “Centurion Valerius Proculus is my cousin.”
“Oh, of course!” the first soldier said quickly. “He’s one of the Primi Ordinones of the Twentieth. Here, I’ll show you how to get to his house…uh, you still need to leave your weapon here, ma’am. Most sorry for the inconvenience.”
The fortress at Cologne was huge, especially since it housed two entire legions. The long rows of century billets were laid out in neat lines, six to a group for each cohort. Diana had heard that the layout scheme for all Roman fortresses was almost identical, dependant on the terrain and location. So, in reality, a legionary would know where to find a specific cohort or century at any fortress within the entire Empire. The chaotic logistics were fascinating to watch as carts hauled grain to the storage silos, cattle hides to the leather shops, raw iron to the metal smiths. Intermixed were units and individual soldiers going about their duties. Though it looked like total mayhem, Diana saw a type of orderliness to the whole thing. The legion functioned like a well oiled machine from centuries of experience.
There seemed to be a lot of activity coming from the area around the Principia, the headquarters of the Legion, though she paid it no mind. As she walked along the road leading towards the housing for the Centurions Primus Ordo, Diana unknowingly strolled past the billets of the Third Cohort. It was then that she saw Sergeant Magnus walking her way at a feverish pace. His fair skin and mop of blonde hair made him easy to spot in a crowd. His head was down and he looked focused, uncharacteristically worried about something.
“Magnus!” Diana shouted, causing the Norseman to stumble as she caught him by surprise.
He turned and stared at her for a second, his mind so wrapped up in whatever vexed him that it took him a moment to recognize her.
“Lady Diana!” he replied, eyes wide. “W…what are you doing here?”
Taken aback by the manner of greeting, Diana stood with her hands on her hips.
“Is that how one says ‘Hello?’” she asked. “Not, ‘good morning,’ or ‘good to see you Diana.’ Seriously, Magnus!”
The Decanus chuckled nervously and shook his head after she planted a kiss on his cheek.
“My apologies,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s just…well; your timing isn’t exactly the best. You see, things aren’t going well right now.”
The deep consternation on his face unnerved Diana. She folded her hands in front of her and started to fidget nervously.
“Why?” she asked. “What’s happened? Where is he?” She sensed something was terribly wrong concerning Artorius.
“I think you’d better come with me,” Magnus replied, placing an arm around her shoulder and guiding her over to the Second Century’s billets. Inside the main office a pair of legionaries was scrubbing what looked like blood off of the tiled floor, as well as the far wall.
“What happened here?” Diana asked, jolting back in surprise. A look of horror then crossed her face. “Artorius…is he?”
“No, that’s not his blood,” Magnus replied reassuring. “He’s fine, at least for the time being.”
“Please explain,” Diana replied, her face darkening.
“You may want to sit down for this,” the Decanus replied, holding a chair out for her at the center table. He then snapped his fingers and the two legionaries quickly exited the office. He told Diana everything that had transpired over the last two weeks. Diana’s hands were on the table, and they started to tremble as Magnus told her about Artorius’ killing of Centurion Fulvius and his subsequent arrest for murder.
“W…what’s going to happen to him?” Diana’s voice was cracking and she found it difficult to speak as a dark shadow crossed her heart. Just two weeks before, her cousin’s wife, Vorena, had come from Rome to tell her that she was going to take over the running of hers and Proculus’ estate. Diana was free to stay with her, of course, but also to leave if she wished. On a whim she decided to visit the one she still loved. She had hoped to surprise him, but now in a mocking of the Fates, it was she who had been surprised.
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Magnus replied. “He’s not condemned yet. Fulvius had powerful friends, and they sent for one of the most venomous prosecutors they could find. However, the decision still falls under the jurisdiction of Legate Apronius. After all, he is the Governor General of the province. Yes, he is a senator, but he is fair. Artorius als
o has friends that he hadn’t counted on before.”
“But…but you said he confessed to his crime,” Diana argued. “Can they really find him not guilty of murder when he admits he did it?”
“There is always hope, my lady; there is always hope.”
Magnus words were of little encouragement, especially since he did not look as though he believed them himself. He suggested that she should wait inside Artorius’ quarters for the time being. The Decanus did not know how long the trial would last. He had said it could take a week, or be over that afternoon. She tried to fight the panic that consumed her as she paced back and forth in the small Optio’s room.
It wasn’t much, though given that the legionaries lived in eight-man barracks rooms, the privacy alone probably counted for much. A dirty tunic and a couple pairs of woolen socks lay tossed in a corner, but at least the bed was made. His custom fitted segmentata body armor was hanging on a wooden rack; the helmet lay on top, both meticulously clean and glossy. A trunk sat on the left side of the bed. It was open and Diana saw that it contained mostly clothes, along with a few personal effects. She walked over to the desk, which had numerous documents strewn about haphazardly. She allowed herself a short laugh at how Artorius always appeared to be well organized to his men, but in private everything was often a disheveled mess.
Diana’s strong sense of cleanliness and order gave her the compulsive habit of putting things in order that appeared in disarray. She sat down and started going through the piles on the desk; at least it would keep her mind occupied for the time being. Anything that looked to be work related she placed in one pile in a tray, which by the amount of dust it collected looked like he had never used. She then saw a series of small scrolls and smiled as she read them. They were various commendations Artorius had received over the years.
This is to certify that the Silver Torque for Valor has been awarded to Legionary Titus Artorius Justus for valorous conduct…