by James Mace
It proved to be a long night for Artorius, and he was glad he napped between matches throughout the day. His friends were intent on getting him drunk and each wished to fondle the ceremonial gladius he was awarded.
“It’s not a phallus, Valens!” he jeered as Valens placed the gladius back on the table sheepishly, his face red with embarrassment.
Each man that he’d fought bought him a drink, with the exception being the one who defeated Magnus. It mattered not to Artorius. He was feeling the effects of his drinking when Magnus walked over and put his arm around his shoulders.
“We got you something,” he said, his face beaming. “Actually it is two ‘somethings.’ The lads decided that so much masculinity needed a bit of relief and cleansing.”
“What?, Is someone going to scrub my back for me?” Artorius grinned drunkenly.
“Well, I suppose they will if you ask them nicely.”
“Magnus!” It was a tantalizing female voice behind him, causing the legionary to bolt upright. “I hope your friend isn’t planning on keeping us waiting.” Artorius squinted his eyes and peered over Magnus’ shoulder, catching a glimpse at a pair of fetching young ladies standing behind his friend. The brunette who had spoken stood with her hand on her hip. She was well endowed, with full breasts and strong legs and hips. Her friend was blonde, of slimmer build, and was giggling behind the brunette.
“Oh, and how I have forgotten my manners!” Magnus replied, throwing his hands up in the air mockingly. “Artorius, meet Meegan and Glenna. Glenna’s a bit shy, but a real fireball, I promise!” He leered at the women. “Ladies, meet the pride of the Valeria Legion.”
Glenna, the brunette, rolled her eyes at Magnus. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she replied, her eyes then falling on Artorius for the first time. She grinned slyly as she looked him up and down, sizing him up. “Well, what do we have here? A good thing I brought you along, Meegan!” The blonde’s face reddened at the sight of Artorius and giggled afresh.
He rose to his feet, swaying slightly. “Ladies,” he said gallantly, taking Glenna’s hand, kissing it. She curtsied low, faking her flattery by his gesture. She winked at him boldly.
“Sergeant Artorius!” a voice boomed.
All eyes fell on Centurion Draco, who was walking towards him with an oversized goblet in his hand. “Here, you’ll need something to help you out a bit.” He offered the cup to the young soldier.
“Sir, I appreciate the gesture, but if I drink anymore, there’ll be no helping me,” Artorius said, his voice slightly slurred.
Draco snorted and shoved the goblet into his hand. “I insist,” he commanded, then whispered into Artorius’ ear, “this is no ordinary wine. It may taste like rat piss but, trust me, you’ll be thanking me tomorrow.”
He raised the goblet in salute and almost gagged on the drink and in fact, wondered if he was drinking rodent urine.
“There you are, lad,” Draco slapped him on the back as Artorius choked down the remainder of the disgusting concoction. Draco turned his head towards Meegan and Glenna who were waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs. “Now, go make us proud.”
The lads raised their goblets to Artorius, cheering.
Artorius was guided into the room at the far end of the hallway by his two female companions. As Glenna opened the door, Artorius gave them a push towards the oversized bed in the center.
“Why don’t you two get started while I get comfortable,” he said with a sly grin.
Both women looked at him in mock surprise and giggled.
“Well, aren’t you the naughty one!” Glenna teased as she put her arms around Meegan.
Artorius’ face twisted into a deviant smirk as he watched them kiss each other deeply. He then closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. His skin was flushed, and he felt his body temperature rising. He started clenching and unclenching his fists. Whatever it was Draco had given him seemed to wash away the effects of the alcohol. He chuckled to himself and took another deep breath as he frantically pulled off his tunic. It felt as if every muscle in his body was tensing and flexing, his manhood engorged with extreme anticipation. The two women, who had also discarded their clothing, looked up at him as he let out a low growl.
“Oh my,” Meegan said, her eyes widening. “I think someone’s ready to join us.”
Artorius snickered at that as he dove into the fray of flesh and lust.
The legionaries cheered loudly as they heard the unmistakable creaking of the bed. Screams that resonated throughout the inn sounded like a mix of terror and ecstasy. Magnus nearly choked on his wine as he heard a woman’s voice cry out indignantly, ’don’t bite so hard!’ This elicited a fresh bout of raucous laughter and cheering from the men still conscious.
“What in bloody hell did Draco give him?” Praxus asked.
“Something I got from an alchemist friend,” the centurion answered as he walked up behind the men. “Let’s just say it was a little special something. It was expensive as all hell, too. I was saving it for myself, but the pride of the legion deserves it more than me.”
“That was quite noble of you, sir,” Praxus replied, his face full of sincerity.
Magnus pounded the table, roaring with laughter before falling out of his chair.
Chapter IX: Rebellion and Deceit
***
Gaius Silius was in the middle of getting a rubdown at his personal bathhouse when Calvinus entered.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but an urgent message has just arrived from Gaul,” the master centurion explained.
Silius waved the slaves away and grabbed his robe. “Have you read the message?” he asked as they walked towards the legion headquarters, knowing full-well the answer.
“I have,” Calvinus answered. “There has been a revolt amongst two of the minor tribes. I say ‘minor,’ but you know how these things escalate in a hurry.”
“Which tribes are they?” Silius pushed open the doors to the meeting hall and saw that the tribunes, primi ordinones, and cohort commanders were already assembled.
“The Andecavi and the Turani, they are among the smaller tribes in the region. However, I do feel we should act quickly and decisively.”
“Take your seats,” Silius announced to the assembly as he sat down at the head of the table.
Calvinus waved the messenger over to him. The man handed the legate the copy of the scroll bearing full details of the rebellion.
Silius was silent as he read the details of the message. Finally he spoke. “The Aedui, Treveri, and Sequani are all offering to send significant numbers of auxiliary forces to help combat the rebellion. That’s awfully nice of them.” There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Judging from the size of this rabble, the amount of support being offered, not to mention the sheer logistical nightmare of moving an entire legion, I do not find it necessary that we should send the entire legion. I do feel a Roman presence must be maintained in order to stamp out whatever seeds of rebellion may have been planted by this. “With that in mind, we shall stand up the First, Third, Sixth, and Ninth Cohorts, under the command of Master Centurion Calvinus. You will link up with our allies in Gaul and smash the rebels into capitulation. The rest of the legion will be placed on alert should things take a turn for the worse. I will need messages sent to the rest of the Rhine Legions, along with another to Rome.”
“Sir, is it wise to move against the rebels without first consulting the Emperor?” one of the Tribunes asked. He was a young man, having only been with the legion for a couple of weeks and was clearly biding his time before heading back to some type of political appointment in Rome.
Silius did not see fit to answer the man, and instead gestured to Calvinus, who answered for him.
“The Emperor does not micromanage his legion commanders. He trusts them to do the right thing in a given crisis and respects initiative. To wait for a reply from Rome can take several weeks, by which time the rebellion could have spread into a province-wide revolt.”
&nb
sp; With that Silius stood, the rest of the assembly following suit.
“Calvinus, you have two days to ready your men. In addition to your heavy infantry, I want you to take a contingent of thirty archers, as well as two onager catapults, and six scorpion ballistae.”
“Consider it done, sir,” Calvinus answered, as he and the other officers saluted.
Silius returned the salute and walked out of the room.
“You know, Gaul is rather pleasant this time of year,” Gavius remarked as he tied down one of tarps on a cart. “I used to spend summers at Augustodunum when I was a child.”
“I’ve been there myself a couple of times,” Magnus replied. “Father had business dealings with some of the city councilmen. My brother, Oleg, still travels there in the spring.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Artorius asked.
“Just before we joined the legions. I had hoped to see him when we were in Rome for the Triumph, but he wasn’t able to make it. And the last two times I’ve been home on furlough, he was away on business. I did get to see my other brother, Hansi. He has been an oarsman in the navy for ten years now. I have to say, working a galley oar all day puts meat on you! He was as thin as a beanstalk when he left, and now I think he is almost as big as you are.”
Artorius laughed. His size made him stand out in any crowd, and his years of training with Vitruvius had taught him to make the most of his natural assets. Though he was extremely quick and agile in close combat, he still had a tendency to rely on his strength and voracity. Such had allowed him to win the title of Legion Champion.
Magnus’ talk about his brothers suddenly made Artorius sad. Though it had been eleven years since his own brother’s passing, he still felt the pain of his loss. His first campaign as a legionary had been to avenge Metellus and every Roman slain during the Teutoburger Wald disaster. He had made an uneasy peace with his hatred and lust for vengeance. The dull ache of loss never truly left him, even after the vision of Metellus again . . . but then such a thing was impossible for a rational man to believe; that he had seen and spoken with his brother long after Metellus was dead. And yet he could still see Metellus vividly, and hear the words he spoke to him, as clearly as if he was still alive. It was so surreal. Artorius never spoke of it to anyone, not even his father.
He forced those thoughts from his mind and found himself wondering about the places they were headed to. He had only been through Gaul once, and that was when he was a recruit on his way to their fortress at Cologne. He knew the region prospered and advanced socially, as well as economically, since being assimilated into what was then the Roman Republic. Valens interrupted his thoughts.
“This auxiliary commander that we’re linking up with, I heard his name is Sacrovir. Why does that sound familiar to me?” the legionary asked as Magnus burst out laughing.
“If it’s the same guy I am thinking of, he’s the one whose gladiator was killed by Vitruvius at the games!” he answered.
Artorius thought hard about the briefing he received earlier. “Macro did mention that the auxiliaries were augmented with gladiators,” he replied. “Seems strange, slaves would be willing to fight for Rome.” “Perhaps that’s part of the reason for us going,” Magnus remarked. “It sounds to me like we’re going along just to make sure the auxiliaries and mercenaries hired for this mission don’t get out of hand.”
“Or worse, turn on us,” Gavius added as he joined his section mates. “If this is the same Sacrovir we met in Rome, I wonder what his motivations might be? You know he had a particular loathing for Vitruvius.”
“That I do not know,” Artorius replied, as he leaned against the wagon, gazing off into the distance. He remembered the slimy, weasel of a man all too well. After Vitruvius killed his gladiator, Sacrovir left the Circus Maximus in a huff, screaming profane oaths of vengeance not just towards Vitruvius, but all soldiers of Rome. So what was he doing fighting alongside the legions? What could he possibly have to gain from this? Artorius hoped their commanders had the same suspicions and would investigate further.
Later that afternoon, Artorius was strolling over towards the bathhouse when he noticed his old friend Pontius Pilate walking towards him. He smiled and waved to his friend.
“Sir,” he said as he saluted the tribune.
Pilate laughed and returned the salute. “It’s been a while, old friend.”
“Indeed it has,” Artorius agreed. “Where have you been lately? Not getting corrupted by the other tribunes, I hope!” His smile disappeared when he saw the downcast look upon his friend’s face. “What is it?”
“I’ll not be going with you guys on this one, I’m afraid.” Pilate was visibly upset.
“Why ?” Artorius asked. “You’re one of the finest officers in this legion; not to mention our chief of artillery!”
“That’s just it,” Pilate replied with a sigh. “I’ve been in this post for too long. It’s been decided it is time for me to move on.”
“Where will you go?”
“The Praetorians.”
Artorius’ face lit up, though Pilate still looked grim.
“The Praetorians? Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic news!” He smacked the tribune on the shoulder enthusiastically.
“It’s fantastic if I was interested in pursuing a career in politics and government. Which I’m not,” Pilate retorted. “That’s the bastard about being part of the patrician class. One does not always get to choose one’s own career path. And when it is the Emperor’s closest confidant who selects one, one would be very foolish to decline.”
“Did Sejanus choose you?”
Pilate nodded. “The Emperor’s right hand no less. I suppose, really, I should be excited about my new promotion. It will put me back in the social circle and in the eye of the Senate. Most of the tribunes I started out with here have already done time as minor provisional governors.” He looked down for a second before continuing. “Listen, I want you to gather up some of the guys and meet me at Lollia’s tavern tonight. I, at least, owe the lads of the Twentieth a good send off!”
It was a sunny day in Augustodunum. Farquhar was conducting his studies outdoors. His father, an influential nobleman named Lennox, had sent him to the city to attend the university. Farquhar was an athletic, bright young man of fifteen winters. He was studying economics and marketing, and hoped to one day expand his family’s fortunes beyond their already vast estates. Slaves were always a profitable trade, one which his family had yet to take advantage of. He thought he would speak to his father about this when his term at school ended.
He’d heard rumors recently about civil unrest in the province, but that was something he never concerned himself with. Granted, his sense of adventure relished the thought of military glory, however, Farquhar was also a realist. The warrior societies of Gaul had ended with the conquest of Caesar. The only Gauls who took up arms now were those whose families were noncitizens seeking Roman citizenship through service in the auxiliaries, or else lower class plebes who enlisted in the legions. Farquhar was neither a mere Gaul, nor a plebe. He was of Gallic nobility. His family had been Roman citizens since the conquest. His citizenship meant little to him, for he still bore a Gallic name and considered himself a Gaul first. He had never been to Rome, much less paid mind to her petty politics. His great-grandfather fought with Vercingetorix against Caesar, all those years ago. They claimed fealty to Caesar and to Rome as a means of survival. As a boy, his father showed him his great-grandfather’s sword and told him great tales of his bravery. Farquhar just laughed and shook his head at the absurdity of it all.
He was sitting on a bench, enjoying the warmth of the sun while he wrote, when he felt a pair of soft hands cover his eyes.
“Guess who?” a girl’s voice whispered into his ear.
He smiled and lifted her hands off his eyes. He turned to face Kiana, who seemed to radiate in the sunlight. She was a beautiful young girl, a year younger than he. Her father also a wealthy nobleman and, upon his de
ath, he left her a considerable fortune in land and treasure. This inheritance would fall to whoever her future husband would be, and Lennox wasted no time in arranging their marriage.
“It’s a beautiful day, why are you wasting it studying?” Kiana asked as she pulled him to his feet.
“I have much to get done if I am to enjoy the rest of this day,” Farquhar replied. “My father has high expectations of me, and I would hate to let him down.”
“Your father has high expectations of both of us,” she whispered into his ear. “Oh, I wish we didn’t have to wait to be married!”
“Soon, my love, it will happen soon enough. I will be finished with my studies within the next year, I will be able to start my own business, and then we can marry!”
Kiana smiled. She truly did love Farquhar and could not imagine her life without him. Being betrothed to him was a matter of course; she was relieved she had grown to love him as time went by.
“I promise to be a good wife . . . and a mother.” She blushed as she spoke.
Just then, Farquhar’s friend Alasdair came running up the stairs.
“Farquhar, you are not going to believe this…oh, hi, Kiana.” He was short of breath and obviously excited. “You are not going to believe what has happened. The Andecavi and Turani have revolted!”
Farquhar immediately released Kiana and turned to his friend.
“Revolted?” he asked.
“They threw the Roman magistrates out of their lands and have declared themselves free and independent from Rome! Isn’t it marvelous?” Alasdair was of the Andecavi, so the news struck very close to home for him.
Farquhar and Kiana were of the Sequani, one of the tribes who fought Julius Caesar to the last. While Farquhar was proud of his warrior heritage, he knew full-well from the stories of his grandfather the wrath and devastation the Romans were capable of unleashing.