Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  Diana pitied the poor man. Even though he was not a legionary and did not take part in the fighting, he had to deal with the aftermath. If given the choice, most legionaries would sooner fight a thousand battles, rather than deal with the abject suffering that followed a single engagement. Diana nodded and then turned to Proximo, who stood loyally by, though his own senses were assailed by what they had witnessed.

  “Return to the manor,” she directed. “Have the servants gather every spare blanket, bed sheet, towel, and whatever cloth we may have lying around. Have them boil water, as much as they can, fill every spare vat and jug in my possession. Also…tell my husband where to find me.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Proximo replied, his face creased in worry. As soon as he had left, Diana turned to the orderly once more. She removed her stola, so that she was only wearing her tunic vest and riding breaches.

  “It seems you are short staffed, as well,” she asserted as she proceeded to tear her stola into long strips.

  Artorius was surprised by all the activity in his house. A cart that the gardener used was piled high with sheets and blankets. Wine vats and large clay jugs were stacked alongside with steam escaping from them.

  “What’s going on?” he asked a slave, who was using a large rope to hold everything in place.

  “My lady’s orders, sir,” the man replied averting his eyes downward. “This is to go to the hospital. We were also told to let you know that that is where you can find her.”

  “The hospital?” Artorius asked to no one in particular. He had been there every day since their return from Frisia, visiting his wounded legionaries. He knew the squalid conditions that infected the place, and the thought of his wife being there horrified him. Suddenly, injuries to his side and leg seemed to cry out as he leaned against his vine stick, a realization coming to him. He hung his head, deeply ashamed. He had returned to the comforts of his manor house, not once thinking about how he could use his ample resources to help his men. Diana had spent five minutes in that hellhole and she knew what needed to be done. He cursed himself and started the mile-long trek back to the fortress.

  Night had fallen, and it had started to rain by the time he reached the hospital. The cart from his house arrived but minutes after he did. He watched as Diana rushed from the door that led to the barracks portion of the hospital. Her hair was disheveled, her stola gone, and her tunic covered in blood and other fluids. She had attempted to keep her hands and arms clean, though these were still caked with grime and flaking blood. He stood fascinated as orderlies starting taking blankets and covering up the shivering auxiliaries that lay on the ground. Three more had taken vats of steaming water and a number of rags into the billets. Most of the rest went with Diana into the operating wing.

  As he limped towards the door, he saw Diana emerge once again. She had been there since early afternoon and was completely exhausted. She had stayed on, even after the night shift at the hospital had taken over their duties from the day staff. She noticed her husband for the first time as she leaned against the door jam, her arm stretched over her head. She looked down, unsure what to say. When she looked up again, he simply nodded and took her by the arm. She directed their servants who had come with the cart to stay and assist the hospital staff with anything they required.

  Not a word was spoken between them as they walked out of the gate to the fortress. Diana looked haggard in the torchlight, though the guards knew better than to say anything. Artorius pretended to not notice the looks of horror on their faces. As they approached a small stream, Diana stumbled off the path and collapsed to her knees. She started vomiting uncontrollably. Artorius knelt next to her, ignoring the growing pain in his side and leg that now made walking very difficult for him. Diana was now crying openly, her sobs echoing through the darkness.

  “Dear gods, those poor boys!” she struggled to say. “So much suffering! What have they done to deserve this?” Her face fell into her hands as she let loose all the emotion that had been building up inside of her.

  Artorius placed his arm around her shoulder, but when Diana turned to put her arm around his waist, she accidentally ran her hand over his stitched up side. He gasped in pain and collapsed onto his backside. Diana sobbed and turned away from him, beating her fists into the ground.

  “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I cannot even touch the one I love without hurting him!”

  Artorius took a few deep breaths as he tried to clear his head. He then reached around from behind Diana and took both her hands in his.

  “Here, you can grab onto me here,” he said as he pulled her closer to him.

  “I cannot go home,” Diana whimpered, “not with what those boys are going through. It’s not right!” Exhaustion and sorrow consumed her, and she was in a type of stupor.

  “Then we’ll just lay here,” Artorius replied, soothingly. He eased onto his side, pulling Diana close, her back resting against his chest, his powerful arms wrapped around her waist. He winced as he accidentally bumped his wound against a rock, but managed to stifle any further groans.

  “I’m sorry,” Diana cried softly.

  A chill breeze made her shiver and Artorius held her tightly. He was instantly taken back to the night on the Rhine in Braduhenna, though he refrained from mentioning this.

  The glow of a lamp shone over them as a passing patrol spotted them down by the water. As Artorius looked up behind him, he recognized the voice of the Decanus leading the men.

  “Centurion Artorius!” Sergeant Felix said with surprise. “You alright, sir?”

  Diana had tucked her head and had her eyes shut hard. Artorius could not help but chuckle softly at the absurdity of their situation.

  “Fine,” he replied. “Though if you could do me a favor; run back to the barracks and grab the blanket off my bunk in the Centurion’s quarters.”

  “Of course, sir,” Felix replied, shaking his head.

  The entire squad looked baffled as they all glimpsed at their commander lying in the grass, arms around his wife.

  “Didn’t look like they were fucking,” one of the men muttered, drawing a sharp rebuke from Felix.

  Diana giggled nervously, which helped relieve some of her emotional strain.

  “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you,” she said softly.

  Artorius ran the back of his hand gently over the side of her face, causing her to sigh.

  “After all you’ve done for the lads, there is nothing to be embarrassed about,” he replied. “I hope you don’t mind Felix fetching us a blanket. At least now those poor auxiliaries stuck outside the hospital have some comfort, thanks to you.”

  “I had to do something,” Diana replied. “I couldn’t continue to live in pampered luxury while those who give me that right suffer in the cold after they have given so much. It saddens me to think that this is the aftermath of all wars, and yet once the fighting is over, those who have given the most are immediately forgotten.”

  “You were named after a goddess,” Artorius observed. “And now you have become like a goddess to those men. If ever the fates gave us a divine protector, I now hold her in my arms.”

  Diana returned to the hospital two days later. She insisted on working as an orderly, despite her status as both a noble and a woman. She procured medicines, bandages, and blankets to supplement the Legion’s exhausted supplies. She also arranged for barrels of fresh water to be brought in and refilled daily. More permanent shelters were added to house the auxiliaries who had been outside. From sunrise to sunset she would assist the medics, while offering as much comfort to the sick and dying as she was able. It took a toll on her emotionally, though in the end it made her that much stronger. Her husband was like a father to the men of his Century, and now Lady Diana had become a goddess to the entire Legion.

  Chapter XXVI: Redemption

  ***

  “Cousin?” Diana questioned as she walked into the room. Centurion Primus Ordo Valerius Proculus had contracted a fever following his terrible
injuries at Braduhenna and had been unable to see visitors. His lavish bedroom at his house had been made into a hospital room by the appearance of several doctors and medics, along with all of their equipment and various ointments and other drugs. The midday sun shone on Proculus as he tried to sit upright in bed. He was still very pale, and it looked like he had lost a tremendous amount of weight.

  “Dearest little Diana,” he rasped, though he forced a smile. She was glad when she held his hand and felt a lot of strength in his grip. It was a good sign. She looked behind her and the doctor nodded and left the room, along with his medics.

  “I’m relieved to see you are still among the living,” Diana said, her broad smile one of genuine happiness.

  “Perhaps,” Proculus said quietly, “though I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  Diana stifled a giggle and placed a finger on her cousin’s lips.

  “Shh, don’t try to talk,” she replied soothingly. “I came to tell you that I got word from Vorena. She should be here in a few days.” Diana was startled to see Proculus look crestfallen.

  “Vorena?” he said. “She will see me like this…” He turned his head to the side, gazing out the window. His grip weakened and Diana thought she could see a tear forming in his eye.

  “Vorena’s your wife,” she pleaded. “She should be by your side, regardless of what you look like! Please cousin, let her be here for you.”

  “In all our years…she has never had to see this. I have tried to keep it from her…did not want to upset her.”

  As her exhausted cousin drifted off to sleep a tear came to Diana’s eye. Proculus and Vorena had been married for more than twenty years; they had two sons who were both reaching the age of maturity, as well as two younger daughters. And for all that time Proculus had tried to shield her from the horrors of how he made a living. He had made his fortune on the bodies of fallen races destroyed by Rome, but then again, so had Vorena’s family.

  Her paternal grandfather was the legendary Lucius Vorenus, Centurion Primus Pilus of the Eleventh Legion during the time of Julius Caesar and the conquest of Gaul. Proculus often spoke of the Centurion he had idolized as a child, never knowing that he would one day marry the man’s granddaughter. He had admired Vorenus’ loyalty to both Rome and to his friends. His bond with his fellow Centurion, Titus Pullo, proved unbreakable, even though they ended up on opposite sides during the civil war between Caesar and Pompey. Though they only met once when Vorenus was nearing the end of his days, he had been the epitome of what Proculus viewed to be the ideal soldier.

  Vorena had, therefore, come from a military family, and Proculus knew the agony that her mother and grandmother had been through when their husbands went off to war. He had wanted to spare his wife from that, and now he found himself virtually crippled from wounds suffered on the battlefield. Diana surmised that it would upset Proculus far more than Vorena, though Diana had warned her to steel herself for when she saw her husband.

  It was a modest cottage; stone walls and a thatched roof, with a chimney for the cooking fire towards the back. As Cursor rode up on his horse, he saw that it sat on a small parcel of land. The harvest was coming soon, and he could see a young man supervising a handful of workers in the field. A woman, somewhere in her mid forties from the look of her, was drawing water from a nearby well. She glanced up briefly and froze when she saw the Tribune. Cursor had wished to avoid being conspicuous by wearing his armor and plumed helmet, though he knew it was necessary. Bandits on the roads were quick to attack merchants and other travelers, but they usually stayed clear of uniformed soldiers. Besides, it would not have been long before his identity was known. A squad of auxiliary cavalrymen had accompanied him, along with Commander Julius Indus.

  “We can wait for you here, sir,” Indus said. He and Rodolfo had shared a long and mutually respectful professional relationship, though Indus knew that the fewer men who Rodolfo had to deal with the better.

  Cursor looked back and nodded affirmatively.

  “I will let you know as to his temperament,” the Tribune replied, “provided this is even his residence, of course. If he is willing to see me, he may consent to seeing at least one other old friend.”

  Indus gave a brief smile. “I would like that,” he said.

  Cursor then dismounted his horse, removed his helmet, and removed a large satchel from his horse, which he slung over his shoulder. Indus and the cavalrymen dismounted and guided their mounts over to a grove of apple trees where they would wait for him. The Tribune walked towards the cottage just as Rodolfo emerged, a carving knife held loosely in his hand.

  “Still doing your woodworking, I see,” Cursor greeted his friend. The former Centurion stood dumbfounded and dropped his head in resignation.

  With a hand on his shoulder, Cursor walked Rodolfo over to the ox cart. The Tribune placed the satchel next to a couple of chests and a tarp.

  “You may recognize this one,” the Tribune explained, “you left without taking your personal chest with you. It hasn’t been opened; I simply put a lock on it so that no one would mess with your personal effects. And this…” He pulled back the tarp, revealing the Centurion’s helmet and squamata armor. “Whether you ever wear them again is not my concern, but they are yours. And you may want this.” He reached beneath the canvas folds and pulled out Rodolfo’s spatha.

  The former Centurion took the weapon, which was in its scabbard, and stared at it blankly. He then set it down, though he still remained silent. Cursor then pointed to the last chest. It was much smaller than the other, though it was extremely heavy to move. At this time, the woman from the well and the youth had arrived, both pale with apprehension. Rodolfo put his arms around the woman with a shy smile and gave her a brief hug. Turning back to the Tribune he stammered an introduction of his wife and son. Cursor bowed to the woman, his hand over his heart.

  “And here, we have the last thing owed to you by Rome.” With that, the Tribune threw open the lid of the second chest, revealing a mass of gold and silver coins. Both Rudolfo’s wife, Laurencia, and his son, Henk gasped in shock at the sight. “You forgot about your retirement savings that you’ve kept for all these years. Plus, I went ahead and cashed out your pension, giving you a lump sum, rather than an annual stipend. Less hassle and less contact with Rome.” His face held a small, smug smile.

  The amount of coin was the reason behind Apronius insisting that Cursor take a squad of cavalrymen with him. Between what Rodolfo had saved over the years, plus the monetary lump sum pension for an auxiliary Centurion, there was perhaps one hundred thousand denarii in the chest; the equivalent of a year’s salary for an entire legionary cohort.

  “Father, does this mean we’re rich?” Henk asked, trying to control his enthusiasm.

  One hundred thousand denarii would be enough to buy them a large manor house or massive estate. Rodolfo picked up and drew his spatha, stabbing it into the cart next to the chest.

  “This is blood money,” he spat. “All of this was gotten through thirty years of murder!”

  “As is the money paid to any professional soldier,” Cursor retorted with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Look, if you don’t want to take this coin that is your decision. But do you think it will make the guilt go away? Do you think it will end the nightmares that haunt you?”

  Rodolfo glared at him at this last remark. A knowing grin crossed the Tribune’s face, for he knew he had struck a chord.

  “I know that the countless battles you have fought rend your soul,” he continued, “for they terrorize my dreams, as well. No soldier that survives to see the end of a long career does so without paying a heavy toll in physical and emotional scars. You can’t make them go away, my friend. But what you can do is take what Rome owes you for what you suffered for Her! And if not for yourself, do it for them.” He nodded towards Rodolfo’s family and knew that he had won.

  The former Centurion placed a hand within the chest, closed his eyes and hung his head. Laurencia stepped o
ver to him and placed a hand on his back.

  “It’s okay, my love,” she said as she gently patted his back. “It’s okay for you to let Rome make amends with you. Take what is owed to you and then let your rage go.”

  “I have one more thing,” Cursor said as Rodolfo opened his eyes and raised his head. “Actually, it is something you owe me.” He then reached into the satchel he had placed on the cart and pulled out the half finished carving of the horse bust. This brought the first smile to Rodolfo’s face since Cursor’s arrival.

  “You do still carve, don’t you?” he asked with a grin. “You promised to make this for me, so now I expect you to honor your word and finish what you started.”

  Rodolfo smiled broadly, tears running down his cheeks as he took the block from Cursor. He then nodded affirmatively.

  “I will do so,” he replied thickly, “for you, my one true friend from Rome.”

  “Actually, you do have at least one other,” Cursor replied, waving over to Commander Indus, who briskly walked over to them.

  Rodolfo set the carving down and embraced Indus and slapped him hard on the back.

  “Gods damn it, man!” Indus chastised. “You had us all worried!”

  “I owe you an apology,” Rodolfo replied. He then looked to Cursor, “and to you, sir.”

  “There is nothing to be sorry for,” Cursor replied with a shake of his head. “Know that your honor is intact and the safety and care of your family ensured. You are not a deserter, but a retired Centurion of Rome.”