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

by James Mace

  “This is not good,” he said as he shook his head.

  Alasdair looked crestfallen.

  “Oh, come on!” he retorted as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. “You are of the Sequani, man! You of all people should appreciate those who would look to liberate Gaul from the Roman oppressors.”

  “The Romans have given our people much in the way of prosperity and wealth,” Kiana said as she sat back against the stone railing.

  “At the cost of our freedom and heritage!” Alasdair spat.

  Farquhar grabbed his friend by the shoulders.

  “Alasdair, listen to me. I know this strikes close to you, because you are of the Andecavi. But no good can come from this. You know what the Romans were capable of during the time of that murderer Julius Caesar. They have grown stronger and more fearsome since then. The Rhine Army destroyed the forces of Arminius and practically exterminated the Cherusci nation. What makes you think they won’t smash right through your two tribes? The Roman Army is a juggernaut, it cannot be stopped. Our grandfathers were but children the last time Gauls tried taking arms up against Rome.”

  “The Rhine Army is paralyzed,” Alasdair replied, his demeanor now calm. “The death of Germanicus and the implications of the Emperor in his murder will have immobilized the legions due to their grief. Word has it that they are only able to muster four cohorts with which to put down the rebellion. Can’t you see? Once these legionary forces are wiped out, the Emperor will have to sue for peace! The entire province will follow suit. And then…and then we will all be free.”

  “The Romans have auxiliary forces in the region as well,” Farquhar observed.

  Alasdair smiled and shook his head. “The Romans think they have auxiliaries in this area. Walk with me, my friend. We have much to talk about.” Alasdair put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and they walked off, talking in low voices.

  Kiana stood with her arms folded, unable to hear their words.

  “So the auxiliaries have turned against Rome?” Farquhar asked at length.

  Alasdair nodded affirmatively.

  “There has been talk, talk in high places, that the current rebellion is only the beginning. The auxiliaries, right now, are playing the loyal little lapdogs to Rome, but it is only a ruse.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “I have friends, who have friends,” Alasdair replied with a coy smile on his face. “Trust me, sooner or later the rebellion will find its way here, and when it does, we must be ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Farquhar was completely lost at this point. The entire concept of a province-wide rebellion seemed a bit too surreal for him.

  Alasdair rolled his eyes. “We must be ready to fight, of course! Farquhar, we are the emerging leaders of this society, and of Gaul. Therefore, we must first and foremost set the example, inspire the people to reclaim their warrior heritage.” Farquhar looked to the heavens while he allowed everything to sink in. “Let us see what happens.”

  The tavern was packed full of soldiers who wished to see off their favorite tribune. On the small stage where musicians often performed was a table where Pilate and a few of his closest friends sat; the same table where Artorius had been the guest of honor following his win at the Legion Champion Tournament. The tribune was already bleary-eyed from too much wine.

  “A bit of a social faux pas, don’t you think?” Valens asked. “I mean, how often does a tribune, or any patrician for that matter, elect to have food and wine with the likes of us? Most view legionaries as mere insects!”

  “Fuck…them,” Pilate spoke slowly, working to enunciate his words. “Men are men, regardless of social class. Only slaves should be treated as property, and even they must be cared for.”

  “You always were one of the good guys, sir,” Praxus spoke as he placed his arm around the tribune’s shoulder, “a bit of an anomaly, perhaps, but still one of the good guys.”

  Pontius Pilate was indeed an anomaly. Years ago, he should have been a magistrate, maybe even a governor. Instead, he had elected to remain with the legions, where he felt most alive. The more he grew attached to the men he served with, the more his peers and betters looked down on him. He had been promised to wed the lovely--and wealthy--Claudia Procula; though her family was beginning to question the wisdom of marrying off one of their most eligible daughters to a man who would rather live with mud-covered legionaries than advance his career and social status. Only the Emperor appreciated Pilate’s sense of devotion. Tiberius had often stated that he would much rather have remained with the legions until his dying days, often calling his time in uniform the best years of his life. In the end, even he had decided that the young knight needed to move on with his career. Sejanus took it upon himself to secure Pilate an appointment within the Praetorian Guard. Such a favor would certainly earn him Pilate’s gratitude and loyalty.

  “I asked them to allow me one last march with you boys,” Pilate spoke, gazing into his wine glass. “Silius told me there would be no tribunes going on this one. Only four cohorts would be needed. He then chastised me for trying to stall on my appointment, and said that any delays would not bode well with Sejanus. Gods know I am going to get another earful when word gets out that I fraternized with the enlisted men!” He sighed deeply and took a long pull off his wine.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Praxus said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “the lads took up a collection and bought you your choice of one of the most expensive prostitutes in this region. They should be here before too long for you to peruse.”

  Pilate laughed out loud and put his arm around the legionary. “You men truly are friends,” he replied. He glanced over at Artorius. “Care to join me? I’m sure we can get one for you as well.” “Hey, Artorius can get his own tart!” Valens protested. “We paid for him to walk off with a saucy pair the last time!”

  The decanus raised his eyebrow.

  “No need to worry, Valens, I can indeed afford my own physical pleasures,” he replied. “If it will make the good tribune happy, then I can drop a few denarii so he doesn’t feel alone and intimidated.”

  This caused a rambunctious cheer from the assembled legionaries.

  Pilate struck a sober tone and stood up, his wine glass raised, while Praxus and Valens helped prop him up. “To the Emperor, the Senate, and the people of Rome,” he slurred as the legionaries raised their glasses. “And most importantly to you, my brothers in the Twentieth Legion. Valeria!”

  “Valeria!” the host of men answered. All quaffed their wine as a procurer and a group of fetching and elaborately dressed young women entered.

  “Ah, here we are then!” Magnus said gleefully as he stepped gingerly down the steps and over to the procurer, a pouch of coins in his hand.

  “Sir, make us proud!” a legionary shouted to Pilate, who put his arm around Artorius. The young decanus propped him up.

  “If you forget how it’s supposed to work, just watch me and do what I do,” he whispered into Pilate’s ear.

  The next morning Artorius came to the main gate to see his old friend off. There was quite the caravan of baggage carts, slaves, livestock, and various hangers-on. He had forgotten just how large the retinue of a tribune was. There was a body slave, an auger, two footmen, a cook, steward, and a young woman that Artorius was not certain as to whether or not she served a function or was merely for decoration. Pilate rode up cautiously on his horse. He looked to be severely hung over, something that made Artorius laugh to himself.

  “How’s your head this morning?” he asked.

  Pilate simply shrugged.

  “Head hurts but my cock is sufficiently drained, so all is good. Tell me, do you always bite the young ladies on the neck?”

  It was Artorius’ turn to shrug. “Sometimes,” he replied casually. “Hmm, leaving your mark I suppose.” Pilate said lightly, and then became somber. He stared at Artorius before addressing him again. “I’ll not forget you. I hope that if I ever need strong leaders at my si
de, you will not hesitate to heed my call.”

  “I will always heed your call,” Artorius replied. “Just do not hesitate to ask.”

  Pilate smiled and nodded in reply. “I got a letter today from another old school friend of ours. You remember Justus Longinus?” “Yes, I remember him,” Artorius nodded.

  “He’s now an optio with the Sixth Legion, Ferrata, stationed near Caesarea on the Syrian-Judean border. At any rate, he’s been doing some type of liaison duty with the Praetorians and the city’s urban cohorts, and he’ll be in Rome for about another year. At least now I know I won’t be totally devoid of friends!”

  Artorius smiled and then snapped to attention and saluted his childhood friend; a friend who had served with him in battle, through triumph and tragedy. Pilate returned the salute and signaled for the caravan to move out. As he rode out, he called out to Artorius over his shoulder. “I’ll be sure to check on your father . . . as often as he’ll tolerate my company!”

  Calvinus and the centurions leading the expedition had been voicing their concerns regarding Sacrovir to each other. Vitruvius found the situation to be rather amusing, given his history with the gladiator trainer. The men were on edge. This would be the first real action any of them had seen since the Arminius campaigns. Granted, it was all centurions leading the expedition; no legates with worries about political benefits or repercussions, nor would there be any of the inexperienced, and thereby incessantly irritating, tribunes getting in the way.

  “Looking forward to meeting your old friend once again, Vitruvius?” Centurion Dominus asked sarcastically.

  Vitruvius only snorted at the mock question.

  “To tell the truth, I’m wondering whether or not Vitruvius should be taking part in parlay with Sacrovir,” commented Cordus, Commander of the Ninth Cohort.

  Draco shook his head.

  “Vitruvius’ history with Sacrovir is all the more reason for him to be seen,” he replied. “Sacrovir’s reaction may allow us to gauge his true intentions.”

  “I agree.” Calvinus nodded. “When we link up with Sacrovir and the rest of the auxiliary forces, I want all centurions with me. I have no desire for any type of prolonged meetings with these people. However, we may have to play the gracious host if we are to glean any useful information from them.”

  “What say you, Vitruvius?” Cordus asked. Up to this point, the muscle-bound centurion had been lounging quietly, sipping on wine, and eating beef cutlets that he found to his liking.

  He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “To tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to this,” he replied. He said no more as he waved a servant over to refill his wine and bring him some more beef.

  Sacrovir elected to wear Greek military garb for his meeting with the Romans. In a show of support, Florus was dressed the same. He watched as the Romans were ushered in. All were centurions, judging by their uniforms and helmets, which each carried underneath his arm. One of the men stood out from the others, though of similar height as his fellows. In addition to being completely bald, he carried a copious amount of extra muscle on his chiseled frame. Sacrovir thought hard about where he had seen the man before, and then it dawned on him. He immediately started to sweat, his blood pressure rising. It was him, the man who had humiliated him of front of the entire population of Rome! Sacrovir’s jaw clenched, seething with hatred for a moment. Then he reached a revelation.

  How convenient that I should use this rebellion as a means of exacting my revenge against Optio Vitruvius!

  The lead centurion interrupted his thoughts. “Commander Sacrovir, I am Calvinus, Centurion Primus Pilus for the Twentieth Legion,” he said, extending his hand.

  Sacrovir rose and graciously took it, though his palms were already sweating.

  “Centurions Proculus, Agricola, and Cordus are my other cohort commanders.”

  Sacrovir nodded at the other men and took his seat, his eyes never leaving Vitruvius. “We meet again, Centurion Vitruvius?” he asked coolly, but with a respectful air. “That is correct,” the Centurion replied. “It’s been a while, Sacrovir.”

  “Indeed it has.” Being in the same room as this man who had cost him so much was insufferable. Still he persevered to remain cordial. Servants brought in trays bearing wine, ale, and various delicacies. “I do apologize that our last meeting was less than cordial. I admit I have lost many nights’ sleep agonizing over it.”

  “I am sure you have,” Vitruvius replied politely, taking an apple and biting into it.

  Both men’s gazes remained fixed on each other in a silent test of wills.

  Florus became uncomfortable and decided to break the silence. “Centurion Calvinus, it is indeed an honor that you have graced us with your presence, not to mention your reinforcements. However, I feel I must reassure you that your legionaries will not be needed. Our forces will be more than able to handle these upstarts.” “Of that I have no doubt,” Calvinus replied. “That is why I only brought four cohorts instead of the entire legion.”

  “Quite a responsibility for one of common birth,” Florus remarked. “Does this mean then, that you intend to fall under our command?”

  Calvinus smirked at the remark as Cordus choked on his wine. Even though Sacrovir and Florus were Gallic, they were still Roman citizens, and nobles at that. Therefore, they were in a higher social standing than any of the legionaries present. Though Calvinus remained composed, Draco seethed at the remark.

  “Leadership of men in battle is a heavy responsibility, regardless of birth!” he snapped.

  Sacrovir smiled. Florus was becoming useful after all, getting a rise out of the Romans with his less than concealed insult. By not sending a single tribune or legate with their contingent, the Romans had negated all sense of political superiority and responsibility. He could have taken that as an insult himself, that the only men of rank the Romans had sent were centurions. Instead, he decided he would use it to his advantage.

  “We have been tasked with providing support to your forces,” Calvinus said smoothly. “However, we will still act as an independent force. Our mission is to see to it that this rebellion does not spread further.”

  Sacrovir listened, though his eyes never left Vitruvius. This meeting was a formality, nothing more. He knew the Romans were there to spy on him; hence, his reasoning for sacrificing the Andecavi and the Turani. Their defeat, in front of Roman eyes, would secure for Sacrovir the impression he needed to make. Just then, Taranis entered the room. He wore traditional Gallic garments, loose-fitting trousers and a tunic. He also wore an ornate cavalry sword on his hip.

  “Ah, Taranis, my friend,” Sacrovir announced, standing up, “come, join us! This is Taranis, Chief of the Sequani. He will be leading our forces from the front, when the time comes.”

  Taranis forced himself from sneering at the Romans and took a seat by Sacrovir and Florus. Taranis passionately hated the Romans, never allowing himself to forget the sufferings his people had endured under Caesar. The Romans continued to eat and drink, though all were uncomfortable with the situation. Only Vitruvius seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “The Andecavi are by far the lesser threat,” Calvinus asserted. “I have sent word to Acilius Aviola, Commander of the Eighth Legion’s Eighth Cohort, stationed in Lugdunum. If the Sequani wish, they can link up with him there. The rest of us will mass against the Turani.”

  “Yes, I had wondered when we were finally going to get some use out of those Roman troops,” Taranis said, his voice dripping with disdain. “That cohort has been leeching off the people of Lugdunum for the last three years. I will be glad to finally get some work out of them!”

  “Easy there, old friend,” Sacrovir soothed. “Remember, the Romans are our friends and allies.”

  “Not to mention conquerors,” Draco remarked in a low voice. If the Gauls heard him, they wisely kept their retorts to themselves.

  Artorius watched as the auxiliaries conducted drill and maneuvers. Their weapons and armor varied g
reatly, though there was some semblance of order. Only a minority was actual auxiliaries, the rest looked to be a mix of gladiators and mercenaries. There was a man dressed in Greek armor, riding a magnificent charger back and forth in front of the formation, shouting orders.

  The Roman cohorts were camped just outside the city walls, with their eastern rampart approximately a quarter mile from the auxiliary camp. Artorius and some of the others had gone over to watch their ‘allies’ and assess them.

  “Looks like they’re using a reverse maniple formation,” Valens remarked. “Look at how they have got their heavy troops out front.” Indeed, the Gauls did seem to be in a basic three-line formation, only they kept their heavy troops in front.

  “Quite the array of weapons they have,” Magnus observed. “They almost look like gladiators.”

  “That’s because a large number of them are,” Artorius replied. “Apparently, Sacrovir has offered these men their freedom if they fight for him.”

  “Fight for him, or fight for Rome?” Gavius asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Artorius smirked knowingly. “Therein lies the great mystery,” he replied. “On the surface one would think that Sacrovir and Florus are, perhaps, attempting to better their social and political standings by suppressing this revolt. I’m not so certain.” “I don’t believe it for a second,” Magnus snorted. “The cost is too great for this to be a mere display of fidelity and usefulness. The Emperor may dismiss them completely, saying they were simply doing their duty as citizens. Sacrovir stands to lose a fortune here, whether his gladiators live or die.”

  “Well, we’ll find out soon enough what their intentions are,” Artorius replied. “So those are the legionaries from the Rhine,” Radek snorted. “They don’t look so intimidating.”

  Ellard gazed upon their faux-allies with trepidation. “Those men conquered the known world. I hope Sacrovir knows what he’s doing.” “Sacrovir is nothing but a fool, as is that idiot deputy of his, Florus,” Radek retorted. “That Spartan of his is completely mental as well. You, my friend, just need to worry about staying alive through all this.”