Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  Dominus and Macro both breathed sighs of relief.

  Proculus smiled at their reaction. “I didn’t think you men would be too terribly disappointed. I also want you to suspend all work details for the next two days. Let your men know they performed well, and that they deserve a couple of days off.”

  “That’ll give them a chance to get the feeling back in their limbs,” Macro observed as he tried to work some feeling back into his own hands.

  “You know, if the Germans were smart, they would try and draw us out during the winter,” Dominus remarked.

  Proculus frowned and nodded at the remark.

  “Too true,” he replied. “They are much better suited to this climate than we are. Even our men who’ve been on the frontier for a long time have never gotten used to this accursed weather. Thing is, they lack any kind of supply system. There is no way they could keep any sizable army fed and supplied during the winter months.”

  “Thank the gods for that,” Macro replied as he raised his glass.

  “So have you chosen your new optio?” Proculus asked, changing the subject.

  “I have,” Macro answered. “I have a sergeant, who’s also my chief weapons instructor.”

  Dominus started to laugh. “You’re talking about Vitruvius, aren’t you?”

  “He’s been trying to avoid getting promoted for years,” Macro continued. “But I’m not giving him a choice this time. He’s declined promotion enough times to satisfy his vanity. I feel it is time he started stepping up and we take a hard look at him in the future for further promotion.”

  “You think he’ll be ready for the centurionate that quickly?” Proculus asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Macro took another drink before answering. “I dare say he’s ready for it now. I think once Vitruvius stops obsessing about his role as chief weapons instructor, he will rise through the ranks rather quickly. I think he may even become a cohort commander one day.”

  “Quite lofty expectations for one of your men who is still a decanus,” Dominus remarked.

  “You know Vitruvius by reputation only,” Macro answered, “if you knew him as I do, you would not hesitate to agree.”

  “That settles it then,” Proculus said, setting his cup down. “Get the orders drawn up and start putting him to work where he belongs.”

  “Already been done,” Macro responded.

  “I guess they won’t be attempting to mess with our boats anytime soon,” Magnus said as he and Artorius walked into the barracks. The bathhouse had been a blessing and thoroughly rejuvenated them, though Artorius still made a mad dash for his bunk and curled up under the warm blankets.

  “At least they won’t try from that avenue of approach,” Artorius replied. He sat up on his bunk, took out a cloth and some oil, and started to wipe down his gladius. His armor would need some oiling as well. Too much time had been spent in the wet snow, and it would soon start to rust.

  Magnus was taking a hammer to his javelin, attempting to straighten out the metal tip. The rest of the men in the section either slept or were still at the bathhouse.

  “How many do you think we killed today?” Magnus asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve stopped paying too much attention to those kinds of things,” Artorius replied. “What I look forward to is the decisive battle which will finally end this thing.”

  “If Arminius can be convinced to face us out in the open,” Magnus said.

  “Something tells me he will,” Artorius answered. “He cannot continue to allow us to ravage his lands while only offering token resistance. His influence will fade with his own people. No, he’ll have to fight us sooner or later. I think by us invading so deep within his territory, it will come sooner.”

  Arminius sat in his chair with his chin in his hand. He was deeply troubled and even more deeply angered. While his siege of Segestes’ lands had been carried out successfully, his father-in-law had escaped. Worse yet, Segestes’ daughter, Thusnelda, Arminius’ own wife, had been spirited away as well. Arminius knew Thusnelda carried his child, a child that would be raised by the Romans! It would be better if the child had been slain!

  The attempted raids on the Roman docks had been, for the most part, unsuccessful. A couple had inflicted some loss on the Roman boat-building efforts, however the raiding parties paid a heavy toll. Other groups had been ambushed and destroyed before they had even reached the docks. The Romans could replace their burned ships a lot faster than he could replace dead warriors. He had ordered a stop to the raids in order to not suffer any more unnecessary loss. This, of course, had been met with opposition. Any time he ordered anything less than a head-on attack, the other war chiefs voiced their disapproval.

  So…the Romans would finish their boat building. Then what? It was obvious they intended to strike deep into Germania and force him into a decisive engagement. The Cherusci lands, for the most part, had gone unmolested, but now they would no longer be safe. He would have to finally face the Romans and end this war once and for all. Since Teutoburger Wald, he had prayed nightly to all he believed in that he would never have to face Tiberius on the battlefield. Now he faced another Tiberius. Germanicus had learned the lessons of his uncle well. That hateful bastard, Severus, whom Tiberius had sent to aid Germanicus, was proving to be a nightmare to face as well. Though he was advanced in years, the old mentor of the Emperor had lost none of his tenacity, cunning, or sheer ruthlessness. This had been made very clear at Ahenobarbi.

  Very well, if a confrontation with the Romans was inevitable, then at least he would choose the ground. He rose and nodded to the guard at the door to his chamber. The man left and was soon accompanied back in by a host of warriors, great chiefs, and influential fighters who would help Arminius in his final campaign against Rome. All looked solemn and some more than a little anxious. Arminius knew if he did not act decisively on this campaign, he was in grave danger of losing all influence amongst his fellow warriors. Sadly, not one of them could tell the difference between a Varus and a Germanicus. To them a Roman was simply a Roman. If they had been so successful in Teutoburger Wald, then why had they not been as effective for the last few years? Arminius realized that he had to give them a victory.

  “Friends, allies, fellow warriors,” Arminius said when all had been seated, “we all know of the Roman ship-building that has been going on since the end of the campaign season. They are intent on striking deep into the heart of our lands. They have a huge army with which they hope to destroy us. Therefore, if we are going to face them in battle, we will need every warrior you can muster. None must be allowed to remain back. We gamble everything on this. Everything we fought for and won in Teutoburger Wald must now be defended to the last.

  “There is a place called Idistaviso, towards the end of the Weser River. There we will make our stand against Rome. They will be far from home, alone, and cut off from any hope of support. We, on the other hand, will have mustered every fighting man from every last tribe within our lands with which to finally exterminate the Roman presence in the west!”

  A loud cheer erupted as warriors stood, shook their fists in the air, slammed the table, and clamored for the head of Germanicus. Some even called to make Arminius king of all the united tribes of Germania. When they had left, Arminius was left alone to stew over his decision. Though he had been goaded into this by practically everyone, his uncle, his fellow war chiefs, the Romans themselves, he still bore full responsibility for the outcome. All he had told them was where they would be fighting, yet they had not so much as even come up with a rudimentary plan of attack. He walked out with much on his mind.

  Chapter XVI: The New Optio

  ***

  Germanicus watched, concerned as soldiers practiced launching their barges into the river. They seemed to leak excessively, and he worried about the possibility of them sinking once fully loaded.

  “I wouldn’t be too concerned, sir,” a young tribune at his side said. “They generally only draw a couple centimeters of wate
r and then they’re good.”

  “Tribune, are you planning on riding into Germania on one of these barges?” Germanicus asked.

  “No, sir, staff officers are supposed to ride on one of the Triremes,” the tribune answered.

  “So you won’t have to spend weeks sitting in a couple centimeters of water, all the while wondering if your whole ship will up and sink.” Germanicus looked at the tribune sternly. “Get as much tar and pitch as you can get your hands on and seal up all the seams in these damn barges!”

  “Right away, sir!” with that, the tribune left in a hurry.

  The tavern was packed with soldiers, as was the norm when the century was given leave time. The weather had started to improve. The snow was off the ground, and the air was beginning to warm. For Artorius it felt good to stand outside in the open air and enjoy his wine. A young Gallic woman had been vying for his attention for some time. He was about to oblige her when he saw Vitruvius arguing with Flaccus by the corner of the tavern. He had seen Flaccus point his way a couple of times. He wondered if their argument was in regards to the rumors they had heard about Vitruvius being selected to replace Valgus as optio. It was well known that Vitruvius did not want the position. It was also known that the higher command had been pushing Vitruvius to take a promotion so they could groom him for the centurionate. Whether he wanted it or not, Artorius had a feeling Vitruvius would now be on the move up through the ranks. He was the type that would occupy the optionate only long enough for a centurion vacancy to come open.

  While he watched the unfolding debate, of which he couldn’t hear a word, he felt a touch at his elbow. The young Gallic woman was standing there, with her arm looped through his. She was a pretty thing, blonde hair flowing about her shoulders, pretty lips, and a full set of teeth. He had to laugh to himself, remembering the semi-toothless woman from the butcher’s shop that had struck Valens’ fancy a while back. This one looked so sweet and innocent. Ha!

  “But you’re not so innocent, are you?” he said aloud.

  “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” she replied coyly.

  He looked back at the two soldiers still arguing. Well, whatever it was, it really wasn’t his concern, and besides there would be time to find out later. He smiled back at the young woman, placed his arm around her and walked off into the night.

  “Damn it, Flaccus, you’re the tesserarius and are, therefore, senior. It should be you who replaces Valgus!” Vitruvius was shaken.

  “Vitruvius, you have been ducking this promotion for years,” Flaccus replied calmly. “Though I may be older and have been in the army much longer, you were a decanus well before me. And let us not forget that you’ve been offered the optionate three times already! You need to understand there is more to being a great leader than just teaching soldiers how to fight with a gladius and javelin. You have a way with the men, and as much as it pains me to admit this, you are a better leader than I am. For the good of the century, you must take this position.”

  Vitruvius sighed audibly.

  “Then who will take over as chief weapons instructor?” he asked.

  “Find a replacement,” Flaccus replied, looking briefly over to where Artorius had stood moments before. “Otherwise, I suppose you could pull double-duty as both optio and chief weapons instructor. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You know Macro’s not giving you a choice this time.”

  “I know,” Vitruvius hung his head for a second. “Alright then, for the good of the century I will occupy both positions. Chief weapons instructor is an additional duty anyway. I can make time for it, until I find a suitable replacement.”

  “And when will that be?” Flaccus asked smiling.

  “When I finally find someone in this damn army who can beat me in single combat,” Vitruvius answered.

  “You think too much of your abilities,” Flaccus remarked, “Though not entirely without merit, I admit.”

  Vitruvius smiled and looked away. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be on the line, where the action is. This just doesn’t feel right to me. After all, you and Camillus both are senior to me. I still think one of you should take the position.”

  “You’ve got to remember,” Flaccus replied, “that the term ‘Optio’ literally means ‘chosen one.’ You are the one Macro chose. It could have been anybody, but he selected you. And just so you know, Camillus feels the same way I do. Accept your destiny, old friend.”

  “Come on, Artorius! You’ve gone soft today!” Vitruvius said as Artorius lay on the ground, gasping from the sergeant knocking the wind out of him.

  It had just been a bad combination of events. His night of fun with his lady friend had run late, he was mildly feeling the effects of her enthusiasm, in addition to a little too much wine. Combine that with the fact that Vitruvius was extremely irritable after the events of the night before and was looking for someone to thrash for it. Why did all of this have to take place just hours before their weekly sparring sessions?

  “What, did that little hussy drain all of your manhood out of you last night?” Vitruvius asked dryly.

  “Something like that,” Artorius said as he staggered to his feet.

  “Well, come on, man. A few more good beatings will purge her venom from your veins!”

  Artorius came at him, punching hard with his shield, and jabbing with his gladius. He knocked Vitruvius’ shield up, lunged down, and stabbed the Sergeant in the foot. Vitruvius yelped in pain and brought his own gladius down on top of Artorius’ neck. The after-effects of the night had slowed him down, and he was unable to pull back and defend against the sergeant’s onslaught. Artorius lay groaning on the floor while Vitruvius limped around the training hall.

  “Better, much better!” Vitruvius said through clenched teeth.

  Artorius just lay on the floor moaning.

  Vitruvius walked back to him and poked him in the ribs with his training gladius. “So was she worth it?” he asked, laughing.

  “Oh, yes,” Artorius moaned as he worked up to his hands and knees. “I would say so.”

  “Well, then, no harm done!” Vitruvius laughed and pulled the young legionary to his feet. “You’re still improving, even after a night of playing with the harlots! Just don’t make a habit of it right before we spar! See you next week.”

  Artorius made his way to the bathhouse. He was sore, sweaty, and remembered that he had not bathed since the day before. He saw Praxus walking in just ahead of him.

  “You’re catching up to Vitruvius,” Praxus remarked. “I saw him come limping by here just a while ago. He was trying to hide it, of course. It looks like he still got the best of you, though.”

  “You have no idea,” Artorius said.

  His body hurt all over and he just wanted to get cleaned up and soak in the hot water. He was aware of the fact that he still reeked of sex, something Praxus pointed out to him. As they lay on the tables where slaves rubbed them with oil and scraped the dirt away, Praxus continued their conversation. Artorius found he was only half conscious.

  “The weather’s improving,” Praxus observed. “We should be readying ourselves for the spring campaign before too long.”

  “Probably,” Artorius slurred in response.

  “The boats are all done,” Praxus continued. “Everyone’s been conducting amphibious assault rehearsals, along with all of the usual drill and weapons practice, some of us more than others.” He reached over and punched Artorius on the shoulder as he said that.

  Artorius simply groaned. After the massage, the cold plunge bath revived him, and time in the heated pool relieved his aching joints and muscles. He felt much better as he and Praxus walked out of the bathhouse.

  “Can I ask you something?” Praxus asked, not waiting for an answer. “Why do you go through those weekly sparring sessions with Vitruvius? I can understand wanting to be a good fighter, but you’re not a gladiator, Artorius. Very few of us have skills even close to those of Vitruvius, yet we still succeed in battle. We work together. Eight m
en working as one unit can be more effective than a hundred fighting as individuals. Your body pays a heavy toll every week with the beatings he gives you. Remember, you’re not going to win this war by yourself.”

  “I know that,” Artorius replied. “I just think it would be better if those eight men you speak of all fought as well individually as Vitruvius. I’ll be honest with you, Praxus. I have no intention of spending my career as a simple legionary. I know I’ve only been serving for a little over a year and that any type of promotion takes time. I also know it is not uncommon for veteran soldiers to retire at the same rank held when they first entered the legions. I just feel if I were the best close combat fighter in the legion, I might someday be able to take Vitruvius’ place.”

  “If you can beat Vitruvius, you will be the best in the legion, probably in the entire army,” Praxus remarked.

  “It’s also a challenge to me,” Artorius said. “I’ve heard he’s unbeatable. I’ve seen how all the veterans continue to get scarred in battle. His body remains conspicuously devoid of any injury, yet he kills more than anyone whenever we engage with the enemy. Something inside of me yearns to beat him, to be the best there is. Besides, I’d rather take my beatings from him than from a barbarian with an axe!”

  Later that day the century stood in formation, all dressed for parade. Centurion Macro stood in front of the formation. In his hands he held a parchment bearing a set of orders, along with the staff associated with the rank of optio.

  “The rank of Optio comes from a term meaning ‘chosen one,’” Macro stated. “The optio of a century is hand-picked by the centurion to act as his right hand. He is subordinate only to the centurion himself, having been selected for promotion ahead of his peers. In the absence of the centurion, it is the optio who assumes command.