Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “Twenty-seven, actually,” Praxus replied. “And no, you wouldn’t remember, because you weren’t even in the army yet!”

  “All the same,” Artorius continued, “the point I’m making is that I would have to go from a junior section leader to centurion within six years, and I don’t see a mass number of vacancies coming open like that. It would also mean having to bypass the principal ranks of tesserarius and signifier.”

  “Vitruvius did it,” Praxus replied with a shrug. “He was selected for optio when he was still a decanus, and he only held the optionate for three years.”

  “Yes, but he had plenty of years as a section leader before that,” Artorius replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your vote of confidence. It took me five years to become a section leader, which I admit is no small feat. However, unless there’s another big shake-up of some sort, I imagine I’ll be at least the same age Macro was, if not older, before I rise to centurion.”

  “You make your own destiny, Artorius,” Praxus clapped him again on his shoulder. “Take care of your men, prove yourself to be the leader that Macro, Vitruvius, and Statorius know you are, and your path will show itself to you.”

  Julius Sacrovir sat at a small table in a dark corner of the nearly empty tavern, brooding over the injustice he had to endure. His family had long ago inherited the franchise of Roman citizenship during Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, despite their Gallic ancestry. His was a noble family of great wealth and status in the province who had adopted the name Julius, as did many other noble Gallic families, much to his distaste. It was sickening to him that they should take the name of a man who had brought so much suffering and hardship to Gaul. Hundreds of thousands had been murdered during Caesar’s nine year campaign. His wars of conquest had never carried the endorsement of the Senate and had been entirely of his own making.

  It had been almost seventy-two years since Alesia fell, ending the Gallic wars. Caesar’s nemesis, Vercingetorix, had surrendered in hopes of saving his people. Instead, those that weren’t butchered were sold into slavery. As a way of showing his admiration for his worthy adversary, Caesar had Vercingetorix imprisoned for six years, all the while treating him as a royal guest. At the end of that time, he was paraded in Caesar’s long-awaited triumph and then ritualistically strangled for the amusement of the mob.

  Sacrovir’s grandfather had fought at Alesia and had vehemently protested Vercingetorix’s surrender. The Averni and Aedui, to which Sacrovir’s family belonged, were spared by Caesar in order to secure alliances with those two tribes. With so many of the noble families decimated, they and other pardoned nobles were able to exponentially increase their land, wealth, and power. Greed drove them, and greed made them sell out completely to Caesar and to Rome.

  In secret, Sacrovir celebrated the Ides of March, the date when Caesar was murdered. He loathed the Julio-Claudians that had spawned out of Caesar’s heirs. His successor, Octavian, had married into the powerful Claudian family and created a dynastic monarchy as Emperor Caesar Augustus. The current occupant of the imperial throne was about as un-Caesar as a man could be. While Julius Caesar died because he had wanted to become Emperor, and Augustus had realized that dream through politics and civil war, Tiberius was the most reluctant ruler Sacrovir had ever heard of. In tactics and war, he had been one of the most feared commanders Rome had ever unleashed. His service record was impeccable; never tasting defeat in battle and every campaign won. Even the great Julius Caesar had been beaten on occasion; his army repelled by the Gauls at Gergovia.

  Tiberius’ weakness lay in his reluctance to assume ultimate power, and the Senate had goaded him into accepting the mantle of Augustus. Although all had wished for a return to the Republic, they were terrified of Tiberius, afraid that he was not genuine in his reluctance. Sacrovir smiled at the thought. Tiberius was the reluctant Emperor who oversaw a Senate that was weak and impotent. Sacrovir knew he need not worry about Tiberius’ skill in battle, for he would be unable to take to the field in the event of a rebellion. His best field commanders were now of no concern. Caecina Severus had started to succumb to the effects of age and decades of campaign. And Germanicus...Germanicus was of no concern anymore. The timing was perfect.

  Anger and disgrace sowed the seeds of rebellion in Sacrovir, for in spite of his nobility he was prohibited from membership in the Roman Senate, as were all non-Latins, regardless of birth or social status. The ignominy was hard to swallow. He was granted all the other privileges of the Roman nobility, and had to pay the same taxes as well. The Emperor was said to be sympathetic to the cause of nobles from around the Empire trying to stand for senatorial membership, however the so-called pure Roman nobility had created such outcry that Tiberius let the issue drop. They were meek like mice any time he asked them to make a decision regarding rule and administration of the Empire, and yet they became like a pack of rabid dogs when their social order was threatened. This grievous insult was one of Sacrovir’s prime reasons for wishing to lead an uprising of the Gallic nobles. His personal reasons, though, were much darker. His soul seethed with a lust for revenge against the Roman legionaries who had humiliated and cost him so much.

  Across from Sacrovir sat Julius Florus. Florus was another Gallic nobleman, whose family had attained Roman citizenship years before and had also adopted the name of the hated dictator. He, too, felt aggrieved that he was prohibited from standing for senatorial membership. Since this rejection, he had become disaffected by Roman rule in Gaul. He was also heavily in debt from the demands of his lifestyle, as well as some bad investments, and was now facing poverty. When Sacrovir had first come to him with the possibility of raising a rebellion, he was immediately aroused by the possibility. In his youth he had dreamed of martial glory, and in his most private thoughts he knew this ambition involved defeating the seemingly invincible legions of Rome. His Roman citizenship was meaningless to him, and he would rather have lived as a lord of Gaul than a pseudo-noble of Rome. If he could put a sword through the moneylenders at the same time, then so much the better!

  “I hoped you would have chosen a place a little less public,” Florus seemed uncomfortable, looking around at the few patrons in the tavern. Most were local farmers and shop owners, though there was the occasional well-dressed merchant from Rome.

  Sacrovir waved a hand dismissively. “When we have rallied more to our cause, I will concern myself with secrecy. But for right now, I assure you we are in friendly territory. You see that man behind the bar?” He pointed to where a surely-looking fellow stood wiping down the bar top with a greasy rag. He was older, bald, with just a trace of gray stubble on his face, and a belly that protruded and rubbed against the wood. “What of him?” Florus asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “This place is all he has. He makes a decent living off the drunkenness of locals and merchants. He is also nearly impoverished, owing to the enormous debts acquired at the hands of the Roman moneylenders. If he does not do something drastic soon, he will be reduced to begging on the streets.”

  “A perfect candidate,” Florus observed.

  Sacrovir nodded. “Yes, and there are many more like him, thousands more! Your own people, the Treveri have been equally manhandled and oppressed. The Pax Romana of Augustus has only led to the indebtedness of our nobles and the enslavement of our people. Gaul is slowly but surely losing her identity. Gauls now dress like Romans, they talk like Romans, they build their cities like Romans, and they even bear Roman names. Just look at our names! Both our families adopted the name ‘Julius’ in honor of the man who committed the wholesale murder of our people, and for what? So that we could see our culture and heritage vanish before our eyes?” He took a long quaff of ale before continuing.

  “I need you to rally as many sympathetic nobles as you can from amongst your people. There are many who feel the same strain of taxation and debt that we do, combined with the insult of being denied the right to stand for what is supposed to be attainable for all noble citizens! If we wait t
oo long, the entire nobility of Gaul will be bankrupt and enslaved, our influence with the people lost. Now is the time to strike, while we can still rally popular support. Start spreading the seeds of dissention, rally the most trustworthy of your peers, and meet me in Augustodunum in thirty days.”

  Florus nodded, then stopped. “But what of the army? Surely you do not think the Emperor will just allow us to throw off the yoke of Roman oppression and secede from the Empire do you? The Rhine Army is but a few weeks march from here.”

  At this Sacrovir smiled; an evil glint in his eye. “I do not believe the Roman Army will be much of a problem.”

  Florus raised his eyebrows, his face showing skepticism. “Do tell.” “All in good time my friend. Very soon all shall be revealed. But I will reveal this: grave and scandalous news should be reaching the army on the Rhine, shortly, which will benefit our cause.”

  Florus grunted. “I can’t wait to hear this ‘grave and scandalous news.’”

  “I just need to verify a few facts before I speak of it,” Sacrovir affirmed. “Now let us drink to the days when Gaul was free!”

  The Second Century stood in parade formation in front of their billets. Vitruvius was conspicuous by his absence, being sworn into the office of centurion by Valerius Proculus, Cohort Commander, as well as Gaius Silius, Legate of the Twentieth Legion. Caecina Severus, who commanded the Twentieth during the campaigns against Arminius, had finally been allowed to retire. Silius had been brought in to replace the commander of the Fifth Legion just prior to the last campaign of the war against Arminius. His leadership qualities had so impressed the Emperor that, when his tenure was over, Tiberius did not hesitate in granting his request for another command.

  From top to bottom, the soldiers being promoted were brought before the century. First was Flaccus, as he accepted the staff that signified his promotion to optio. Next, Sergeant Statorius was handed the scroll, with his appointment to the position of tesserarius. Artorius held his breath as he waited for the next set of orders to be read. The century was in a column formation, and he stood at the extreme right of his section. Praxus stood directly in front of him, at the right of his own section. Artorius’ heart raced as Praxus was called forward to receive his promotion orders, his palms sweating as the newly promoted decanus returned to his place in formation.

  “Legionary Artorius, post!”

  Artorius stepped off and marched to the front of the formation, facing the centurion. Flaccus handed Macro two scrolls, each bearing a set of orders.

  “Legionary Artorius, as a testament of your sound leadership, demonstrated valor, and fidelity to the Twentieth Legion, you are promoted to the rank of Decanus, Sergeant of Legionaries. Sergeant Artorius, you are hereby appointed as Chief Weapons Instructor for the Second Century. The individual fighting abilities of the men of the Second Century now rest in your capable hands.” With his left hand, he handed him both sets of orders, clasping his right hand with his own. “Congratulations, sergeant,” he said in a low voice.

  The century erupted into an ovation as Artorius took his place with his section, poorly concealing a grin.

  Artorius sat at his small desk that evening, reviewing the lessons that Vitruvius had drawn up years before. He found it ironic when the former chief weapons instructor himself came walking into the section’s room. He still wore the standard lorica segmentata body armor, though now it bore a harness of leather straps over the top, bearing his medals and decorations. It was tradition for centurions to display all of their awards for valor, even during day-to-day garrison operations. Vitruvius would soon trade in his segmentata and buy a suit of either lorica hamata mail or squamata scale armor. In addition to displaying their decorations, centurions were expected to purchase their own distinctive armor..

  Artorius marveled at the number of awards Vitruvius had received over the years. There were numerous campaign medals and silver torques for valor displayed. Rumor spoke of him being decorated for valor eleven times over the course of his career, though this could never be verified. He did know that Vitruvius had been awarded the Civic Crown, Rome’s highest award for valor. He and Statorius saved the life of their former optio during the battle at the Ahenobarbi Bridges several years before. Statorius had also been awarded the Civic Crown, though both men would only be required to wear it during formal functions. The newly appointed centurion also wore the transverse crest, signifying his rank, atop his helmet, and he carried the traditional vine stick.

  “That helmet looks good on you,” Artorius said, rising to his feet in respect.

  Vitruvius motioned for him to take a seat as he removed his helmet and grabbed a stool. “I see you found my old notes for conducting weapons drill,” he remarked, pointing to the parchments on Artorius’ desk. “They were mainly just notes I made to myself when I was learning the job. I was thrown into the position and pretty much had to teach myself the job. Eventually it all became second nature.” “I only hope I can do the same,” Artorius replied.

  “You will,” Vitruvius answered. “If you don’t, you and I will start up our little sparring sessions again!”

  “Yes, sir,” Artorius replied with a nod.

  Vitruvius looked down and shook his head. “That is a term of address that is going to take some getting used to! How about we let it go when it’s just you and I, okay?”

  “Sure thing, sir,” Artorius replied with a smirk.

  “We’ve known each other long enough to drop the formalities when the men aren’t around. You’re about the last person I need calling me ‘sir,’ as if I need to be reminded that I am now a centurion.”

  He and Artorius both laughed at that as Vitruvius continued.

  “You know they’re talking about reviving the Legion Champion Tournament. Flavius has tasked one of the cohorts to renovate the old arena outside the fortress; it hasn’t been used in years. There’s also been a lot more individual sparring in the drill hall.”

  “When will the tournament take place, if it does happen?” Artorius asked.

  “Springtime, probably,” Vitruvius answered. “With no campaigns pending, I think it will be a welcome distraction for the men.”

  Artorius sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “It will be welcome,” he agreed. “But why bother? No one can best you.”

  The centurion shook his head. “No, I’m done. It’s time I stepped aside. You had better be entering, though. You are a marked man. A number of the lads, especially those in the Third Cohort, think you are the one to beat.”

  Artorius folded his hands on his desk and contemplated this.

  “Really, Vitruvius?” he asked.

  The centurion was shocked at the sincerity in his young protégé’s voice. “Are you kidding me? There’s a reason why you’re a chief weapons instructor. Second,” he snorted, “and probably most important, you fought me to a draw. That’s never been done before. If you compete in this tournament, and I know you will, and lose, I will have to enter. If someone can best you, then he is the man that I’ve been looking for all these years; the one who is better than I am.” “That is quite an obsession you have,” Artorius replied. “It is almost as if you want to find someone that is better than you.”

  “I’m not a god, Artorius,” Vitruvius replied soberly. “No matter how good a man is, he is still just a man. And no man is invulnerable. I am beatable; you’ve proven that. It is time the name ‘Artorius’ was venerated as the master of close combat.” The centurion then rose to his feet, Artorius did the same.

  “Anyway, just wanted to see how you’re assimilating. I know you have some new recruits that you will be working with soon. With your permission, I would like to observe their training with you. Oh, I know Macro will be there, but I want to see my former pupil as the master.”

  With that, they clasped hands hard.

  “It is a daunting responsibility I leave you with,” Vitruvius continued. “However, I know our boys are in capable hands.” With that he left th
e room.

  No sooner had Centurion Vitruvius walked out, when Magnus rushed in, winded. “Artorius, Macro is calling for all section leaders immediately! There’s been a terrible tragedy.” “What is it?” Artorius asked as he rushed for the door.

  Magnus’ face was grim. He took a deep breath and fought to keep his voice from shaking. “Germanicus is dead.”

  Chapter II: A Son of Rome Mourned

  ***

  Macro stood behind his desk. Flaccus, Camillus, and Statorius stood behind him, all looking grim. Even Camillus had lost his perpetually cheerful nature. The signifier then sat down in a chair, his head lowered, and hands in his hair. Germanicus was greatly revered by the legionaries even after he left the Rhine Army for the east. Even though many of the men had never met him personally, they still bore the same honor and affection that they would for their own fathers. Those who met him remembered the occasions fondly.

  Indeed, Germanicus had looked after his men as a father would his sons. His tactical savvy was unparalleled, and his personal valor in battle had been an inspiration. Like Tiberius before him, Germanicus never led from the behind the army. To him, his life was no more important than that of his lowest legionaries, and if they were in danger, so was he. His concern for their welfare had been genuine, and he had always made it a point to meet with individual soldiers. When he spoke to his legionaries, he spoke to them as men, with dignity and respect. His loss would shake the Rhine Legions to their very foundations.

  Artorius was among the last of the section leaders to arrive. Many were talking excitedly. Germanicus’ death could very easily cause a serious disruption within the legion, which would, in turn, lead to civil unrest within the province.

  “At ease!” Optio Flaccus shouted.