by James Mace
Immediately there was silence.
Centurion Macro then spoke. “Before we start letting rumor and emotions run rampant throughout the ranks, we need to make certain that we deal strictly with the facts of the matter. We have just learned our former commander, Germanicus Caesar, is now dead.” His voice was cold and distant, his emotions blunted by the tragedy. “Given his age and the fact that he was in prime health, rumors of murder are spreading like wildfire. The gossips have even conspired to implicate the Emperor in this affair. Let it be known that we will not tolerate such talk from amongst our men! Tiberius has many enemies in Rome, enemies that will do anything to slander his name. Yet we must not forget the real man, who led us on this very frontier before becoming Emperor of the Roman Empire; a task, I may add, he never wanted.”
Macro was an impassioned supporter of the Emperor, especially since he had been one of the soldiers welcomed back into the army by Tiberius himself after the Teutoburger Wald disaster.
“As for the talk of murder,” he continued, “there is already a suspect in custody at this time. Some of you may have heard of Gnaius Calpurnius Piso, the former governor in the east. He is the primary suspect, along with his wife, Plancina. Let our men know that while we all mourn the loss of a Son-of-Rome, we do not seek to meet out our own form of justice. Let the courts in Rome decide Piso’s fate!
“More importantly, if there are dissidents amongst the provinces, they will see the death of Germanicus, along with the Emperor’s implications, to be a sign of weakness. We dishonor Germanicus if we allow ourselves to fall into disarray, to forget ourselves as Romans and as legionaries. To allow calamity to fall upon the province will undo everything he fought for. Make certain your men understand this. That is all.”
With that, the host of men who led the century dispersed.
Artorius returned to his section’s barrack to see that all of his men were gathered around, talking very fast. They stopped when they saw him enter.
“What’s happened?” Decimus asked.
“We’ve heard awful rumors, rumors that we cannot believe to be true,” Gavius added.
“I know,” Artorius replied and took a deep breath. “Sit down, men.” Here was his first challenge as a leader of legionaries. Very carefully he explained everything that Macro had said, emphasizing the need to remain focused on their own section of the Empire and not to be distracted by events in Rome which they could not control.
“Piso,” Carbo muttered. “I wish I could gut the bastard myself!”
“Well, you can’t,” Magnus retorted. “Artorius is right; the only way we can do right by Germanicus is to continue as he would have wanted us to.” He looked to Artorius who nodded his assent, thankful for the support from his friend.
“Still, can you even believe the talk of the Emperor himself being involved?” Valens added in disgust. “It makes no sense.”
Decimus leaned back onto his elbows on his bunk and shook his head.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “If Tiberius ever saw Germanicus as a threat, he would have realized otherwise after the mutiny on the Rhine when there were those who tried to make him Emperor. He was loyal, and Tiberius knew it.”
“Just doesn’t make any sense,” Valens repeated. “I can’t believe that so many in Rome would see Tiberius as having ordered Germanicus’ demise.”
“And yet, that is probably what history will remember,” Carbo added. “Historians are fickle, and they like a good story of murder and deceit. They will leach off the rumors and gossip about Tiberius like fucking locusts.” His voice rose as he spoke.
“Easy, Carbo,” Artorius said. “We cannot be putting faith in the gossips and slanderers back home. If we do, there will be anarchy and chaos at every change in the winds. We are better than that. If historians choose to condemn Tiberius, posterity will be betrayed.” Artorius stood and looked each man in the eye. “But know that I will not tolerate any mention of the Emperor’s name as a suspect in this affair!” It was the first time he asserted his authority over his men.
Magnus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs and interlocking his fingers. “You don’t have to worry about that from us, Artorius,” he said quietly, his Nordic blue eyes taking in the slightly nervous glances from the others. “We know our job, and we know where our loyalties lie. Ultimately, they lie with the State and with the Emperor. And at the end of the line, they lie with you.”
The rest of the section nodded in agreement.
“You can count on us,” Decimus added.
Artorius gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded in acknowledgement. When he was at last alone, he sighed in relief. He had his men’s trust and loyalty. The first test was over.
Livia sat in the dark, resting the side of her head on her hand. A true stoic, she betrayed no public emotions when the news of Germanicus’ death broke. But alone in the dark, she allowed the tears to fall. She privately mourned the loss of her grandson. What wounded her most were the slanders that implicated her and the Emperor as accomplices to his murder. Though Livia was a hard-hearted woman, she was not so callous as to have wished for the death of her own blood. And yet, because she had not allowed herself to become a weeping, wailing spectacle in public, she was scorned and looked upon with suspicious eyes.
She was taken back to years before when Germanicus’ father, Drusus, died while on campaign in Germania. She had also been inconsolable then, yet never did she betray her emotions publicly. Tiberius had scorned her for her lack of grief. As if he knew what it was like to bury a child! At least then she had had Augustus to turn to, she thought with a sigh. Long into the nights he would hold her close as she sobbed uncontrollably, her heart torn asunder. But Augustus was gone as well, taken to the halls of the gods six years before. Livia Augusta was alone in her grief.
Her remaining son, Tiberius Caesar, Emperor of Rome, would be little to no comfort to her. She knew that he, too, mourned the loss of an able commander and loyal son. In addition to being his nephew by blood, Germanicus had been adopted by the Emperor. Many would say he had Germanicus removed to clear the way for his own son to succeed him to the imperial throne. For that had been a condition set by Augustus, that Tiberius would adopt Germanicus as his own son and give him precedence in the succession. Germanicus had been related to Augustus by blood, whereas Drusus, the younger, was not.
The notion of altering the imperial succession through murder was preposterous to Tiberius, for he was free to choose whomever he wished to follow him. With Augustus gone, the Senate dared not oppose him at anything he set his mind to. A stroke of the pen would have placed Drusus over Germanicus as heir to the Empire, and yet he left the succession intact.
Tiberius’ focus through his grief would now be on clearing of his own name, an impossible task in Livia’s mind. As much as he tried, Tiberius had none of his brother’s charm or political sense. His callous demeanor was always making him enemies. She sensed that no matter what happened, even after Piso was tried and executed, Tiberius would forever be slandered by the ignominy of Germanicus’ murder, and she with him.
Livia saw the death of Germanicus as further proof that the Julio-Claudians were a cursed family, one that the fates took distinct pleasure in tormenting. Of her sons, Drusus, though infatuated with that archaic Republic, was the one universally adored by the people; and he had died before his thirtieth birthday. Tiberius may have once been loved by the legions, but even that was questionable now. To say nothing of the spite he garnered from the Senate. Of Drusus’ sons, Germanicus had been the strong one who bore all of his father’s most desirable traits; military skill, political savvy, and a love of the plebs. He had succumbed at the young age of thirty-four. That only left Claudius, the stuttering, half-crippled imbecile who should have never seen his first birthday. Livia could never fathom how Drusus could have sired such a wretch. She blamed it on Drusus’ insistence that his wife, Antonia, accompany him on every campaign, even when pregnant. Surely the rough life had stunted the lad’s deve
lopment from the womb.
Livia sighed once more. Drusus, the younger, was the only hope left for the Julio-Claudians. He was Tiberius’ only son and the only grandchild of Livia worthy of his heritage. He was also all that stood between the Emperor and his scheming Praetorian Prefect, Sejanus. As part of the prosecution against Piso, Drusus could be the key to helping Tiberius separate himself from the accused murderer of Germanicus.
Unfortunately for Tiberius, his name was too closely attached to Piso’s. It was conveniently forgotten that Piso had first been appointed by, and been a close friend of, Augustus himself. And while Piso had been a friend to Tiberius, there was no doubt as to his guilt. He had even gone so far as to try and reassert his authority as soon as Germanicus was dead, inciting a rebellion against the newly appointed legate who replaced him. Roman soldiers died as a result, and Piso would be condemned in their deaths as well. In order to save himself, Tiberius would have to allow Piso to be sacrificed. If not, the stain on his name and character would be irreparable.
The Emperor listened to the howling mob outside the palace. Two cohorts of Praetorian guards had been dispatched to secure the grounds, lest the crowd become violent. The Emperor was most disturbed by the events of late. It seemed as if the gods were mocking him, forcing him to become so stern and alienating towards his own people, not even allowing him to properly mourn the loss of his nephew and adopted son. What was worse, it was members of his family who exacerbated the situation. Germanicus’ widow, Agrippina, was especially maddening to deal with. She was the source of many of the rumors regarding his involvement in Germanicus’ murder. Tiberius scoffed at the notion. If Germanicus had been a threat, he would have crushed him years before, and without having to resort to petty murder.
Sejanus stood patiently with his hands behind his back. The Praetorian prefect was becoming more and more useful to the Emperor. It seemed like he had the solution to everything that vexed him. If only his son, Drusus, were half as helpful! Drusus was steadfast friends with Agrippina, something the Emperor had never fully come to accept.
“You’ll have to give him up,” Sejanus said coolly, referring to Piso.
Tiberius turned and faced him.
“I know. Piso has been a loyal friend for many years, both to me, as well as the Divine Augustus. What vexes me is that he has the audacity to implicate me in his scheme to overthrow Germanicus, as if I endorsed his plans of sedition and murder. I would have settled for banishing him had he not tried to save his own skin by bringing me down with him.” The Emperor’s voice drifted off and the mob outside could be heard growing louder.
“If you simply banish Piso, Agrippina and her followers will come at you, personally, in full-force. The trial will be starting soon, and there is only one real way in which it can end.”
Tiberius’ face hardened. “I have no issue with dispensing justice upon the guilty, even if they are old friends. What I will not tolerate is some spoiled bitch telling me how to run this Empire simply because she is the granddaughter of Augustus! Why could she have not been like her sister?” Tiberius was referring to his former wife, Vipsania, who he still adored, even after being divorced from her for many years. Tiberius turned back to the window. “From the sounds of the mob, you would think they already have the butcher’s hooks under his chin,” Sejanus replied, coolly. He was referring to the barbaric practice of handing the executed bodies of condemned criminals over to the mob.
In the case of those who had committed treason or other heinous crimes, the mob would drag the corpse through the streets by butcher’s meat hooks. The body would then be desecrated and thrown into the Tiber River. No burial would be allowed, and families of the condemned scarcely ever tried to retrieve the bodies, out of fear of being beaten and savaged by the mob.
Tiberius had witnessed such spectacles on more than one occasion. He grimaced at the thought of such being Piso’s pending fate. “Very well,” he said at last. “We will allow the trial to follow its course. In the end, Piso will pay the price for his crimes. And Agrippina had better tread lightly in my presence thereafter.”
Artorius felt the sweat bead up on his neck as he eyed the new recruits. There were eight altogether. He did not realize they were that far under strength. He wondered why none had come to his section, but then realized that Macro was, in fact, doing him a favor by leaving him under strength, since his men were all veterans. It gave Artorius a chance to adapt to his position before having to deal with having recruits in his own section. It was not so much the task of training recruits that made him nervous; it was the fact that his centurion, along with Centurion Vitruvius, was watching him. At first he kept thinking to himself, ‘how would Vitruvius do this?’ He shook his head and dismissed the notion. He came to realize that Vitruvius was no longer the chief weapons instructor, he was. Slowly he walked down the line of new men, eyeing each one for potential strengths and weaknesses. Most looked average in build, though two were slightly overweight, and one was rail thin. The overweight recruits he wasn’t concerned about. Physical training would strip the baby fat off of them. Getting the skinny recruit to put on enough weight would be a challenge. After a quick walk down the line, he turned and faced the men, aware of the extra sets of eyes on his back.
“Recruits,” he began, “my name is Sergeant Artorius, Chief Weapons Instructor for the Second Century. Today you will start to learn the basic fundamentals of close-combat drill. First off, each of you will grab a practice gladius and shield from the cart.”
As they retrieved their practice weapons, Artorius saw looks of surprise on most of their faces at the weight of each. One of the overweight recruits grunted as he tried to heft the gladius and shield.
“How the hell are we supposed to use these in battle?” the recruit complained. “These bloody things weigh a ton!”
Before the young man could blink, Artorius was standing nose-to-nose with him. “What in the fuck did you say, recruit?” he shouted, his relaxed demeanor gone in a flash. “I didn’t realize I had given you permission to speak!”
The recruit trembled as he saw Artorius clench and unclench his fists, his enormous forearm muscles pulsing. Artorius possessed such sheer size and muscle mass that he outweighed even the heaviest recruits by at least thirty pounds. This only added to his intimidating presence.
“I was just pointing out how heavy these practices weapons are…”
Before the recruit could finish, Artorius butted him in the face with the short brim on his helmet. He then put his face next to the man’s ear. “You listen to me real hard, recruit. You open your mouth and complain like a little bitch on my drill field again, and I will tear your balls off and stuff them down your throat! Are we clear?”
“Yes, sergeant,” the recruit gulped.
Artorius started to turn away, but then spun around and slammed the back of his fist into the recruit’s stomach, just below the ribcage. The young man gasped and fell to his knees, his breath taken from him.
“Get up,” Artorius growled into the recruit’s ear.
As the man struggled to his feet, gasping and coughing, Artorius immediately became nonchalant again, his relaxed demeanor returning. He then went about demonstrating the proper use of the gladius and shield. After having shown them the proper stance and how to punch with their shields, he had them practice with the six-foot stakes that were set into the drill field. Once satisfied, he then showed them how to properly use the gladius as a stabbing weapon.
For the next hour he had them drill on the training stakes. He remembered back to his first day on the stakes. He had been trembling badly, exhaustion overcoming him, when Centurion Macro had motivated him to keep going with a serious of blows from his vine stick. Artorius could see the recruits facing similar dilemmas as fatigue gripped them. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Centurion Macro pacing back and forth behind the recruits, waiting for one to drop his weapon or try and rest before Artorius told them to cease. One poor recruit missed the stake complete
ly with a stab and stumbled forward, falling face first onto the ground. As he struggled to his feet, Macro lunged at him and brought his vine stick down hard on the recruit’s helmet, sending him sprawling to the ground.
“You clumsy jackal!” he roared.
As the centurion chastised and kicked the hapless recruit, Artorius noticed one of the others had stopped attacking his stake and was, instead, watching and laughing at the ordeal. Artorius walked up behind him silently and cuffed him hard across the ear. The recruit gave a yelp of surprise and pain and was terrified when he saw the sergeant glaring at him. He immediately went back to drilling with his shield and gladius without Artorius uttering a word.
When he felt they had pushed themselves hard enough, Artorius gave the order for them to rest. All were drenched in sweat and leaning on their practice shields. One of the overweight recruits was dry heaving and trying to keep from vomiting.
“You throw up on my drill field and you will be cleaning it up with your tongue,” Artorius asserted.
The young man looked up at the decanus, his face pale and clammy. He swallowed hard and stood upright, breathing deeply.
Artorius was surprised to see the skinny recruit held up well, comparatively. He was soaked in sweat and completely exhausted, however he had neither stumbled nor given up at any point. Artorius then told them to take off their helmets and have a seat on the grass.
He stood facing them, his hands behind his back.
“Recruits,” he began, “today you have taken the first steps towards learning how to fight as legionaries. What I did not tell you earlier is the practice gladius and shield are, in fact, twice as heavy as service weapons.” He saw a look of relief cross the faces of several of the young men. Artorius smirked at that. He then noticed that Optio Flaccus had arrived to take the recruits to their next phase of training for the day.
“By drilling with these practice weapons, you will be able to handle your service weapons more easily,” he continued. “As you progress through your training, your bodies will become stronger, your muscles more conditioned. Remember what you learned today, and we will expound upon it tomorrow. That is all.” As he turned to walk away, he heard one of the recruits address him.