by James Mace
The courtesan’s room contained a huge bed with numerous comfortable pillows exuding delicate yet exotic scents. Incense burners hung in each corner, and the art and décor was of the finest quality. Yes, it would seem that a number of rich senators had been busy to have sponsored such a place. Artorius contemplated, briefly, that just a few of the contents in the room cost more than a year of his salary.
He thought briefly about his encounter with Camilla the night before. By Hades, he had been brutal to her. He eyed his companion and wondered if she would be up to a similar challenge. As she dropped her gown and moved confidently towards him, he figured she was. He was then taken in the young woman’s arms and kissed deeply and aggressively. He soon forgot about everything else in the world. For the time he was there, nothing else mattered or even existed.
His companion, whose name he found out was Lucilla, had been more than a generous host. She seemed genuinely pleased and extremely aroused by the young legionary. His brute power and extreme physical conditioning seemed to add to her excitement. Artorius prided himself that no rich magistrate possessed his youthful vitality, stamina, or brutal strength. He stroked his ego further by thinking that perhaps she should have been paying him! Then again, he was quite impressed by her veracity and physicality as well. It became something of an erotic competition to see who could wear the other out first. Each found they were both worthy opponents in this game of lust and fury. As evening came, they lay relaxing in each other’s arms.
“Hmm, think I should get back?” Lucilla asked him.
“Whatever for?” Artorius asked.
“Well, there are a lot of other soldiers in the city in need of affection,” she giggled, caressing his chest with her fingers.
“To hell with them,” he retorted. “I’m a soldier, and you were hired to take care of us while we are here. I take it your contract did not say how many or for how long? I mean, am I not enough to keep you satisfied…”
She placed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “Hush, I was only teasing,” she said with a smile. She laid her head back onto his chest. “Believe me, you’ve got more vitality and energy than any man I’ve met.”
“You have no idea,” he said, smiling. Without warning he rolled her roughly to her back.
She yelped and then laughed as he tried to show her just how much vitality he did have. He then leered at her, a devious thought crossing his mind as he rolled her over, her butt in the air. He admired the view and gave her a firm smack on the behind.
“Mmm, I know what you want.” she said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well don’t think that this means I like boys.” he growled as he pulled on her hair.
“Oh, I would never…ah!”
Artorius could not quite place it, but it gave him distinct pleasure in demonstrating such sheer dominance with women. Perhaps it was the pent up aggression from the campaigns in Germania, or it may have been a repressed resentment towards women after Camilla abandoned him. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it and not just because it felt good. Like Camilla, Lucilla buried her face in a pillow and bit into it; although, unlike Camilla, she started to grind into the lusty legionary and seemed to revel in his savagery.
It was not until late the next morning that Artorius finally left the courtesan house. He was almost sad as he left. Lucilla stood on a balcony, body aching and wanting nothing more than a long soak in a hot bath. Still she smiled and waved at him as he walked away. Artorius felt his heart strings getting pulled as he waved back.
“Come off it, man. Don’t forget what she does for a living.” he chastised himself harshly. “Some creepy old man probably had his hands on her just before you did.” And yet he could not help but feel he had left something of himself there. He walked a little delicately himself; after two days of pleasure, he was feeling a little chafed.
“Men, look who finally made it back.” Statorius said, sarcastically.
The decanus was reclining on the ground, a cup of wine in his hand, lost in his own reminiscing.
“I think I need an ice bath for my groin.” Artorius moaned as he limped over to where his section mates were lounging, the smile never leaving his face.
His friends all looked equally serene, though it was obvious he was the last to return by quite some time. Valens lay flat on his back, eyes closed, his legs spread wide and both hands resting on his crotch. He groaned as if in pain, though he never stopped smiling to himself.
“I can never go back to trashy frontier whores ever again,” he muttered.
“So what was that last night, the ‘mother-daughter’ special?” Artorius asked as he slowly eased himself down onto the grass.
“I doubt that a mother and daughter would have done the things to each other that those two did,” Valens replied, eyes still closed while continuing to smile and moan to himself. “You know, I was perfectly happy to just watch. However, they were so insistent that I participate as well. I mean, what was I to do?”
Later that afternoon Statorius kicked Artorius’ cot, stirring him from his pleasant dreams. “Just so you know, your pass the day after tomorrow has been approved.”
“Pass? I didn’t ask for a pass,” Artorius replied, still half asleep.
“I don’t think you’ll want to miss this,” Statorius remarked, handing him a scroll.
Artorius’ heart soared as he read the scroll.
Primus Artorius Maximus does hereby request the presence of his son, Titus Artorius Justus, on the day following the Triumphal Parade in order to oversee the marriage of his father to Juliana Helena. At the gardens of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, three hours after dawn.
At the bottom was written: Approved, by permission of Platorius Macro, Centurion.
He had been waiting for weeks to hear from his father and had hoped that perhaps he had made his way up from Ostia. To know that not only was he going to be able to see his father, but that he was finally doing right by Juliana made Artorius beam with pride.
The Triumphal Parade was a spectacle unlike any other. It seemed like every citizen of Rome and all the surrounding areas had turned up to pay tribute to the legions who had smashed Arminius and the Germanic tribes. On the morning of the parade, the legions were lined up outside the forum. Each soldier had taken the time to polish his armor, helmet, and weapons, and draped his cloak over his shoulders. As they milled about, Artorius saw a familiar face he had not expected to ever see again.
Camilla still walked with a slight limp, and she had, at this point, given up trying to cover the bite mark on her neck. She smiled at Artorius, and he walked over to her, removing his helmet as he did so.
“Looks like you got savaged by a wild animal,” he remarked sarcastically.
She smiled wryly. “Yes, well, it seems I had to learn a hard lesson about trying to get back with a former love after I went and got married behind his back.”
“So what did you tell your husband?” Artorius asked, morbidly curious.
Camilla gave a shrug.
“Only that we had both spent the night paying to be serviced by men,” she answered.
Artorius could not help but laugh at that.
“I think he’s envious, since his lovers aren’t quite so masculine.” She then gazed downward for a second. “Artorius, I know it was wrong for me to get married the way I did. I did not love Marcellus and still don’t, but I can’t take it back.”
“Look, if we can at least part as friends, it will be enough,” Artorius replied.
Camilla smiled, gave him a lasting embrace, and walked away.
“What did you do to that woman?” Magnus asked as they watched Camilla pause and brace herself against a pillar for a second. She let out a long sigh before she slowly walked away, never looking back. Artorius was grinning from ear to ear as he turned and faced his friend.
“I only got even with her for a previous wrong,” he replied.
“Remind me never to piss you off.” Magnus remarked, his eyes wide.
They
wandered back over to where the rest of the century was staged. All wondered why they were there so early, since the parade was not supposed to start for several hours. Then Severus and Germanicus mounted the dais in the center of the formation. They were each wearing their finest military dress: shining breastplates, purple cloaks over their shoulders, ceremonial gladii at their sides, ornamental helmets underneath their arms. They looked so different than when each had been covered in dirt and blood on the fields of battle.
“Soldiers of the Twentieth Legion!” Germanicus called out. “It is my duty and privilege to present to you your Emperor, Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar!”
With that the men erupted into loud shouts and cheers that shook the Seven Hills of Rome as the Emperor mounted the dais. He was dressed in full military garb, like his generals. The only thing he lacked was the ceremonial helmet; instead, he wore the laurel crown that signified him as Emperor. He raised a hand in salute, and the legion immediately became quiet.
“My friends, fellow soldiers, brothers in arms.” he began. “For each of you that stand before me, I acknowledge as my brother. You have avenged the greatest treachery of our time bringing justice and honor to your legion and to Rome. And though we, as individuals, may be forgotten by history, your deeds and your valor will be remembered forever. Therefore you, my friends, will live forever! In honor of your victory, it is my privilege to present each of you with the campaign crest and medal. Wear them with pride and know your Emperor is proud of you!” He then raised a medal in his right hand as the soldiers all started to chant together, “Hail Caesar! Hail Caesar! Hail Caesar!”
Once the Emperor left, centurions and options made the walk down the lines of their centuries. It was the first time Artorius had seen Macro and Vitruvius in full parade dress with all of their awards displayed. They each wore a harness over their armor, which displayed their medals and decorations. Both had quite a few, though Artorius was surprised to see Vitruvius actually had more than his centurion. As they passed in front of each soldier, Macro took a medal from Vitruvius and handed it to each man. He then clasped each soldier by the hand.
Artorius gazed at his medal the centurion and optio presented to him. For Artorius, as well as many of the younger legionaries, this was the first decoration he had been awarded. It was slightly smaller than the size of his hand and was made of silver. As was customary, it was emblazed with the image of the Emperor. On the top was inscribed: For Victory in the Defeat of our Enemy Arminius. Across the bottom it read: XX Legion, Valeria, Senatus Populusque Romanus. Once all medals had been handed out, Macro took his place at the head of the century formation.
“The campaign crest and medal honors us as a legion and our deeds during this war,” he said. “But there are those who also distinguished themselves individually, and they deserve to be honored and recognized. We have several soldiers within the Second Century who have been selected to receive awards for valor. When I call your names, come forward and receive your award.”
The first award Vitruvius handed to him was a gold crown.
“Legionary Decimus, you are awarded the Rampart Crown for being the first legionary over the wall of an enemy stronghold.”
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 soldiers 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 soldier 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 for 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 th
e 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 time of year,” the man said without turning as Artorius approached.