Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “I knew this day would come,” Camilla said as he approached. Her back was to him, her arms folded across her chest. “You’ll be leaving to join the legions, to share the same fate as your brother.”

  Her cold words struck Artorius hard. Of course, she had always known of his intentions; however, up until this point, she had always spoken well of it. She’d said how brave and noble it was for him to do.

  “How can you say such a thing?” he asked as he walked up and put his hands on her shoulders.

  She turned to face him, arms still folded, tears in her eyes.

  “I will return. You must know this.”

  “All I know,” Camilla answered as her voice broke, “is that your hatred and desire for vengeance is stronger than any love you may bear for me.” She broke down and wept, her head on his chest, hands clinging to the back of his tunic tightly. “I’m so afraid for you. Those aren’t even men that you will face on the frontier; they are animals… savage, brutal, disgusting animals.”

  “Yes, they are,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “They killed my brother and drove my mother to her death. Don’t you see? If I don’t do something, then I will never be at peace. I cannot let such abominations go unpunished.”

  Camilla leaned back and placed both of her hands on the sides of his head. “Just promise me that you’ll write, and that you will come back to me alive,” she managed to say through her tears. “I cannot imagine losing you. Since we were children, I have always felt that my place was with you.” With that she kissed him very tenderly, turned, and walked away.

  Though his heart ached, deep inside he felt as if his saying goodbye to Camilla was little more than a formality. He would keep his promise and write to her, of course. Yet in the back of his mind, he sensed that she would not wait for him. He hoped he was wrong. As he walked away a sudden feeling of dread came over him; a feeling of foreboding, that he would come to regret leaving her.

  Tiberius was Emperor at last. After having spent his entire adult life in service to Rome, he now possessed ultimate power over her. Though publicly he considered himself to be little more than the senior member and representative of the Senate of Rome, in reality he was sole ruler of the known world. When Augustus died the year before, he took the reins of power with great reluctance. Now he had no choice but to leave the war on the Rhine in the hands of Germanicus. While the campaigns against Arminius were by far the most important issues to be dealt with, they certainly were not the only ones. The task of effectively administering an empire was staggering. Tiberius wondered how Augustus had done it for more than forty years. The deceased and now deified Augustus had lingered for almost a year after Tiberius’ recall to Rome. Only when he felt secure in the knowledge that Rome was left in capable hands did he finally allow himself to pass into eternity.

  Shortly following the death of Augustus, Tiberius’ chief rival, Posthumous Agrippa, met his end. Even when in exile, he had been viewed as a potential threat, having been the sole surviving natural grandson of Augustus. Though he had not given the order, and was as surprised as any when he was informed of the young man’s execution, Tiberius could not help but feel a sense of relief. Posthumous himself could have personally done little from his remote island prison; however, there were plenty who would gladly usurp the current Emperor in favor of someone of Augustus’ own bloodline.

  The Emperor sat behind a desk, poring over documents and protocols requiring his attention. He looked down at his hands and forearms. There was still a lot of strength left in them. Some senior centurions managed to stay in the army past his age. Suddenly, he envied them. They, at least, were where the action was, out on the line. Were it up to him, Tiberius would still have been there with them. Such was not the case. As much as he loved the life of the legions, he had to admit when it was time to pass the reins off to the next generation.

  The door opened and Livia walked in. Tiberius sighed without having looked up from his work. His mother was the only person who would dare enter without so much as knocking. Even his son, Drusus, only entered with his expressed permission.

  “What is it, Mother?” he asked, pretending to be deep in concentration. “I’m rather busy today.”

  “Oh, and is it my son who greets me so warmly today?” Livia asked sarcastically. The widow of Augustus and mother to the present Emperor was a Roman matron of all the old virtues. In spite of the fact that she was a woman, Livia considered herself to be a servant of Rome. Many claimed that while Augustus ruled the world, she ruled him. Such was not the case with her son. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who helped you to become Emperor in the first place.”

  Tiberius slammed his stylus down onto the table. “Yes, and thank you so much for reminding me of the hateful predicament you put me in.” He hated admitting it, yet it was true. Had it not been for Livia’s profound influence over Augustus, one of a dozen other potentials would have become Emperor instead of him. There were many days when he wished one of them had. “Augustus told me that my succession was decreed by the gods. In reality, it was decreed by Livia.”

  His mother ignored the remark. Never one to waste words, Livia immediately set about discussing business. “Your nephew sends word from the Rhine. He asks that you send him someone to help in the administrative details concerning the enormous army he now finds himself in charge of.”

  Tiberius threw his hands up in the air. “By the Divine Augustus, how is it you manage to know what’s happening on the frontiers before I’ve even read the dispatches?”

  Livia only smiled wryly at the comment. Her network of gathering information amazed even herself sometimes.

  “I have my sources. Besides, I know that while very much capable, Germanicus cannot run the campaigns on the Rhine alone. No doubt you heard about the mutiny he had to squash the moment you left.”

  “Yes, of course,” Tiberius answered, picking up his stylus and continuing to work.

  “It would seem like you left him a handful to deal with. And I’m not just talking about the Germanic tribes he still needs to suppress.” Livia was always overly critical of her son’s administrative decisions. The only thing harder than living up to the expectations of Augustus was living up to the expectations of his own mother.

  “I’ve already taken care of it, Mother,” Tiberius answered curtly. “Caecina Severus should be here soon. I’m sending him to aid Germanicus.”

  Livia sneered at the name. “Sending the man who bailed you and your brother out so many times? Well, at least you’ve made one sound decision.”

  “I thought my brother did no wrong in your eyes,” Tiberius retorted.

  “Aside from his infatuation with the archaic system known as the Republic, you mean?” Livia rose and made her way to the door.

  “You know, many think, given your staunch support for this hereditary monarchy we now find ourselves in, that you did not even mourn his loss. Some think you saw him as a threat to the system.”

  These words struck Livia hard, though she did her best not to show it. Tiberius knew it was not true, of course. Though publicly she had never shown any outward sign of emotion, Livia had been inconsolable when word of Drusus’ wounding and subsequent death reached her. She had lain at night in Augustus’ arms, sobbing uncontrollably. No matter what differences she may have had with her sons, Livia still felt the same devastating loss that all parents felt who had the unfortunate task of burying a child. Tiberius immediately regretted his choice of words.

  “You know I never believe what is said about you,” he said.

  Livia did not reply until she reached the door. She opened it to find Severus waiting just outside.

  “When he was dying, Augustus called you the last hope for Rome,” she said, turning back to her son. “He may have never told you, but he always loved you, as do I.” She immediately left the room.

  Tiberius lowered his head. His mother never ceased to amaze him. In fifty-five years, not once had she ever expressed any form of af
fection towards her eldest son. He looked up and waved Severus in.

  Aulus Caecina Severus was a couple years older than the Emperor, though he hid his age remarkably well. He was a tall, handsome man, and like all traditional Romans he was clean-shaven, keeping his hair short and groomed. He wore the muscled cuirass typically worn by a legionary legate. It was old, worn, and bore marks from the blows of countless adversaries.

  How does he do it? Tiberius thought to himself. He’s older than I am, has seen more campaigns, and yet he looks almost young enough to be my son.

  Severus stood rigid, eyes straight ahead, and saluted Tiberius. The Emperor was a bit shocked by this, especially since he considered Severus to be a close personal friend. Out of respect he rose to his feet and returned the legate’s salute.

  “You sent for me, Caesar?” Severus asked, still standing rigid.

  “Oh, come off it, man,” Tiberius laughed, waving Severus to a chair. He was a bit unnerved to see that Severus remained rigid, almost standoffish. Tiberius sat down and leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined. “Yes, I sent for you,” he said at last. “Rome has need of your services…”

  Severus breathed out hard through his nose and finally looked the Emperor in the face. “Rome has had need of my services for more than forty years,” he replied bitterly.

  “And she calls on you again, one last time,” Tiberius continued, keeping his patience.

  Severus shook his head and looked down. “Caesar, you know there will never be a ‘one last time.’ There will always be conflict, always a crisis. It will never end; not for you, and apparently now not for me.”

  The Emperor’s face hardened at the remark.

  “You’re right; it will never end for me. That is the price I pay for being where I am. It is also the price you must be willing to pay. You are a senator and magistrate of Rome. You have known this your whole life. I remember when you taught me what duty, honor, and courage meant. My reputation as a soldier stems from what you taught me. It was from you that I learned how to be a decisive strategist and still lead from the front; that my life was not worth more than the men I led. All those times I placed myself at the head of a charge, being the first to crash into masses of men and spears, were because of the utter selfless example that you set. Why the change?”

  Severus looked downcast. He was feeling shamed by his conduct. “I know my duty, Caesar. It’s just that I’ve been doing this for so long. I’ve spent more years on campaign than most of the other Senatorial legates combined. My grown children scarcely know me. And yet, I admit that in battle I never felt more alive; but now I’m tired. Tell me, Tiberius, do you know of anyone else in the whole of the Empire with more actual combat experience than I?”

  Tiberius shook his head. He knew there were none, not even him. “It is precisely for that reason I have recalled you,” he answered. “You mentored and served myself and my brother admirably. I freely admit that many of my early victories were won precisely because of your leadership. We now face a crisis unlike any seen by Rome for a generation. You know this. I take it that’s why you kept your armor in such good repair.” He pointed to Severus’ uniform to emphasize the point.

  “I need you, Severus,” the Emperor continued. “Germanicus is a good Commander, and he will do well. However, he cannot do this alone. He has eight legions to command. The mutiny on the Rhine gutted some of these of experienced, albeit corrupt, officers. The legion I am placing you in charge of lost forty-percent of its centurions in the shake-up. The men who replaced them are, in many cases, a lot younger and less experienced than I would like to see going into this campaign. They not only need leadership, they need inspiration. I can only trust the conducting of this campaign, not to mention the eight legions involved, to my two best men.”

  “What about Drusus?” Severus asked. Tiberius took a deep breath and dropped his head slightly. His son, whom he named in honor of his late brother, had been somewhat of a disappointment to him. Drusus tried hard to please his father, and Tiberius knew with the right kind of mentoring he could potentially make a fine officer. However, in many ways he still acted like a young schoolboy; his vices, namely gambling and whoring with his Judean friend Herod Agrippa, gravely affected his focus and duty performance. It simply would not do for the men to see their commander still half-drunk and reeking of prostitutes on a regular basis. Tiberius cringed at what it would take if his son were to ever have a chance of succeeding him as Emperor of Rome. Granted, Germanicus was his actual successor. However, if Tiberius had learned anything from Augustus’ mistakes, it was not to place all his hopes on one potential candidate for the Imperial Throne. He knew his son had potential, he just wasn’t ready yet.

  “Drusus will come into his own some day, but not now. This is not the time for me to train him. Right now I need men who can get results on their own, without my having to personally watch over every move they make.”

  Severus smiled and nodded.

  “Besides,” Tiberius said with a wave, “I know you would like nothing more than to personally get your hands on the traitor Arminius.”

  Severus clenched his fists at the name. Arminius had served under him as an auxiliary commander, and he regarded his treachery as a personal insult. As tired as he was, he knew in his heart nothing would please him more than having his final campaign be one of retribution, against one who had betrayed him so grievously. Such concepts gave him strength that he thought had faded a long time ago.

  “Alright,” he said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  Tiberius returned the smile and nod. He pulled out a large map of the Gallic and Germanic provinces. Strategic positions, along with the placement of all eight legions were marked. He also produced a parchment with legion names and the names of their senior officers. “Here are the units you will be working with, along with their commanding legates.”

  Severus noticed that space for the name of the legate of the Twentieth Legion was left blank.

  Tiberius was quick to explain. “Technically, you will be the legate for the Twentieth. However, your primary duty will be to act as second-in-command of the entire army. In the event you two decide to separate your forces and act independently, you will take overall command of one of those elements.”

  “That will mean leaving command of the Twentieth in the hands of the chief tribune,” Severus observed. “It will take one hell of an officer. Who is it, by the way?” He knew that in accordance with Roman law and tradition, the chief tribune was usually a young senator with little to no actual experience.

  Tiberius produced a document with the roster for the Twentieth Legion. “Gaius Strabo is his name.”

  “Strabo,” Severus said, “why does that name sound familiar to me?”

  “His uncle, Seius Strabo, is Commander of the Praetorian Guard. I hand picked him. He’s a good young man, intelligent and level-headed, like his uncle. He seems to listen and is anxious to learn. You’ve also got a good master centurion to work with.”

  “Who might that be?” Severus asked, glancing through the roster.

  “Flavius Quietus,” Tiberius answered.

  Severus laughed at the name. He had known Flavius back when he was a young Legionary, thirty years before. Even if Strabo proved not to be the competent officer Tiberius thought he was, Flavius would keep him in line. He also glanced at the names of all the legion commanders. Most of the names he recognized. He nodded his consent.

  “I can work with this,” he said after reviewing everything. “One thing, though. When this is over, I retire…for good this time.”

  Primus was walking through the vineyards as he often did on days such as this. It was here that Artorius would find him. It was amongst the vines that Primus and his sons had had many of their talks. He remembered back when Metellus had come to him, asking for the same letter of introduction that his younger son would soon request. He would sign the letter, just as he had for Metellus. And they would make the same trip to the recruiting h
eadquarters. From there his task as a father was done. He wondered if he would really be doing the right thing, sending his last son off to join the army, given his brother’s fate. He also thought back to his own experiences in the army and how painfully that had ended, at the end of a Pannonian spear. He still walked with a slight limp and, nowadays, was rarely seen without his walking stick. He had thought hard about what happened to him and to Metellus, as well as his beloved Persephone. He also realized that in the end it really was not his choice to make. Artorius had made his decision, and it was, after all, his life to live. As he contemplated these things the younger Artorius came running up the path towards him. Primus watched his son as he slowed to a walk.

  He is strong; he thought to himself, he is intelligent. I just worry about the rage and the hatred in his heart. I do hope he can find peace and satisfy his need for revenge before it completely consumes him.

  Artorius approached his father. His voice was shaking with nervousness as he spoke. “Father, I know you know of my intentions.” As Primus did not reply right away, Artorius continued, “I wish to join the legions, to serve Rome as my father…and my brother before me.”

  “Walk with me,” Primus replied. They walked amongst the vineyards for some time before Primus spoke again. “You say you wish to join the legions to serve as your brother and I did. Tell me this, my son, would you wish to share the same fate as us, to end up half-crippled, or worse, dead? I only served in the legions for four years before my injuries forced me out. Your brother was in for two years before his death. And let us not forget that your maternal grandfather was killed at Actium. You, of course, understand my concern, being as you are my only remaining son,” he paused before continuing, “but in truth, what concerns me the most is your real motives for joining the army. I saw the hatred in you grow from the moment we heard word of Metellus’ death. I, too, had the same burning inside of me. Believe me; I wanted nothing more than to avenge my son and my wife. In time, I learned to quell my desire for revenge, to calm the raging spirit inside of me. You, my son, have not done this. Your lust for vengeance has only grown over time.”