by James Mace
“There isn’t time,” he replied. “Not only have that, but mass numbers of people leaving the area will only alert the rebels. Plus we do not know who may be sympathizing with them.”
Chapter XV: Fire and Hate
The mill had not been used for some time before the rebels occupied it again, and had fallen into disrepair; hence why Heracles found it to be the perfect hiding place. There was a jetty with numerous boats just a short walk away as well. Even if the Romans were to find them, they would have little trouble escaping.
Though their recruiting efforts in Lugdunum had been thwarted thus far, Heracles was far from beaten. He truly believed in Sacrovir’s revolutionary ideals. With Sacrovir and Florus both gone, the young Greek felt that it was his obligation to see their dream become a reality. He had planned to take the boats and head south. There was a Roman estate that they could refit themselves with supplies. He was debating whether or not to burn it to the ground.
That will depend on the hospitality of our host, he thought to himself. He knew who the estate belonged to, which made him eager to exact a bit of retribution against the Romans.
Most of his men were asleep, but for some reason Heracles found that he was unable to join them. The events of the day had shaken his nerve a bit, though he dared not show it. He had come too close to getting captured, and in fact had lost a handful of his men to the Romans. He chastised himself for having even come to Lugdunum in the first place. He knew better than to try and recruit from a city that had its own garrison of Legionaries!
Heracles stood in one of the old lofts, gazing south towards the river. A cool breeze blew in and it made him shiver. He then looked to his right and his gaze froze in place, his eyes unable to believe what they were seeing.
“It's not possible,” he said in a low voice, yet there it was. Coming up the road at a fast jog was an entire column of Roman soldiers. They were without torches, depending upon the moonlight to guide them, not wishing to disclose their presence too soon. Heracles grimaced and raced inside the mill.
“Everybody up!” he shouted, kicking men from their peaceful slumber.
“What is it?” one of his men asked, wiping his eyes.
“We are undone,” Heracles answered. “The Romans know we are here. We must leave at once!” He then directed several of his men to light torches and follow him, the rest of the men making for the boats. He stopped at the top of the landing and turned back to his men. “Burn everything you can and then head for the boats.”
Proculus watched in horror as he saw men scrambling from the mill bearing torches. These were not heading to the boats with the rest. Rather they were heading towards the nearest structures.
“Dear gods,” he said quietly. Buildings were quickly alight, and flaming arrows could be seen flying sporadically over the rooftops to nearby buildings.
“Gladius...draw!” the Cohort Commander shouted. The Romans rushed towards their foe, hoping to cut off their escape, but it was too late to catch most of them. Only a small handful was too slow leaving the mill, and these were quickly cut down by legionaries. They watched helpless, as the rebels bearing torches rushed to where the boats had already started their journey down the river. People were running amok, panic-stricken as their city burned.
“Artorius take your men and clear the landing!” Macro ordered as the Second Century stormed the mill. The Decanus nodded and then signaled for his men to follow him. They raced up a flight of steps that led to a small balcony with a door off to the left side. As he went to kick in the door, it was hurriedly opened from the inside, a half dozen rebels seeking to escape. So great was their haste that they ran into the group of legionaries before they were aware of their peril. Magnus slammed his shield into one man, sending him screaming over the short railing, his head smashed to bloodied pieces on the cobblestones below. Decimus pinned one rebel against the wall, stabbing him in the leg before knocking him senseless with the pommel of his gladius.
As the rest fled back into the building, Artorius stabbed one through the back, stumbling to the floor as the rebel feel screaming in pain. Carbo and Valens leapt over him, continuing the pursuit. By the time the Decanus regained his footing and caught up to his men, they had already slain the remaining rebels. He looked down below and saw a section of legionaries rushing in through the far door.
“They’ve all buggered off!” Sergeant Ostorius shouted from down below. “You catch any survivors?” Artorius turned back to Decimus, who nodded affirmatively.
“We got one,” he replied with a sinister grin.
“Start forming these people up, and get these damn fires out!” Macro shouted to his men.
“What of the rebels?” Flaccus asked.
“They’re gone, it’s too late to do anything about them,” Macro replied. “Besides, we do not even know where they may be headed.”
“Actually we do,” Artorius replied as he walked up with a wounded prisoner in tow. The rebel had been stabbed in the leg and could scarcely walk. Artorius had settled for dragging the man by his matted hair. “This fellow here claims to know where they are headed.”
“Does he now?” Macro asked, gazing in contempt at the pathetic creature.
“Yes sir, yes sir!” the man spoke frantically, his hands clutching at his hair, his injured leg dragging behind him, useless. “I can tell you where all of them have gone. There is a Roman estate not forty miles from here. I’m sure you know of it...” The rest of his words trailed off in the Centurion’s mind as he closed his eyes in realization.
“What is it, Sir?” Artorius asked as Macro took a deep breath.
“We are in trouble,” he replied, turning to find Proculus. Artorius’ eyes grew wide in realization. “Bring that wretch with you!” Macro called over his shoulder. He dragged the screeching man behind him as a plan formulated in Artorius’ mind. He just hoped his Cohort Commander would be of a state of mind to hear it.
Heracles breathed a sigh of relief as the glow of the burning city faded in the distance. The current of the river picked up significantly, and he knew they would reach their destination by dawn. He smiled sinisterly at the thought. All the Romans had done was force him to expedite his departure from Lugdunum. He fancied himself that they had given the residents a fitting farewell gift. It would take days for the Romans to put the fires out, and days were all they needed. That would give them time to rest and regroup before moving on. There were numerous mountain tribes that he could hope to enlist between there and Arelate, though he dared not go as far south as Massila. That place was crawling with Roman troops. But all that would come later. For now he simply wished to enjoy the night, the ride along the river Rhodanus, and his thoughts of plunder and revenge.
“What have I done?” he heard Kiana ask in a low voice that she thought no one could hear. Heracles opened one eye and appraised the young girl in the moonlight. She was wrapped in her cloak, the hood pulled over her head. In spite of this, Heracles could still make out the glistening of a tear that streaked down her cheek. He closed his eyes once more and contemplated what to do with the child. With them having to abandon Lugdunum, she was of no more use to him…well, perhaps he would have a final use for her before she could be disposed of.
Tierney raced to the scene of the fire as quickly as she could. All along the river homes and shops burned. People were rushing from all over the city in order to help their fellow citizens, while the urban cohort sought to keep order and to prevent looting. She directed her gaze to over by the abandoned mill. A tanning shop nearby was burning and amongst those who fought against the flames she recognized the tunics of legionaries. As she walked closer, to where the heat started to make her face burn, there was a long row of hastily removed armor and weapons. There was no fighting left to do, and they would have cooked in their metal armor. A group of five soldiers stood guard over the equipment.
“Legionary Felix,” Tierney started to ask, “have any of you seen him?”
“Felix,” one of the
men contemplated. “Oh yeah, I think he’s from the Second. He should be over there, miss.” The man pointed over his shoulder to where groups of legionaries were attempting to chop and clear away burning timbers before they could spread the fire further. To the right men were jumping into the cold waters of the Rhodanus to try to cool their seared skin before rushing back into the fray.
Tierney looked around for something she could use to help. Against the side of the mill was a rusted pry bar. She grabbed it and brushed away the cob webs as she raced over to help the legionaries that sought to save as much of the building as they could. The heat was unbearable as the flames threatened to engulf any who got too close. Tierney frantically pried a burning timber away from the unburned thatch roof. As the beam fell she stumbled away and caught her breath. As she turned her head to the right, her eyes met those of Legionary Felix, who was also regaining his composure before rushing back in. The young soldier at first thought to ask Tierney what she was doing there, but then realized the significance of her actions. He grimaced and nodded his approval. She returned the gesture and both rushed back into the searing hell.
Early the next morning Felix and Tierney sat against the wall of the mill, the scorched remains of the tannery holding their gaze. Both reeked of smoke, their clothing and faces blackened and sticky with sweat. Felix reached a filthy hand over and grabbed Tierney’s, which was equally grubby. She looked over at him, a tear in her eye.
“Kiana’s gone,” she said, causing Felix to stir.
“What do you mean gone?” he asked, his face full of concern for the young girl that he had taken to thinking of as a little sister.
“She was taken by them,” Tierney explained.
“She’s a hostage?” Felix rose up to a knee, grasping Tierney’s hand hard as she shook her head.
“Not in the way you are thinking,” she replied. “It is her mind and her soul that are held hostage by those bastards. She was corrupted by them, and I could not save her.”
“Well perhaps I can,” Felix replied earnestly. Tierney looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly do to save her sister. “I swear on my family’s honor that I will bring Kiana back to you!” Tierney reached up and embraced him hard as Sergeant Praxus strode quickly over to where the legionaries were resting.
“Grab your gear!” he shouted as soldiers started to stir and move over to where they had grounded their weapons and armor. “We’re moving out!”
Felix stood with Tierney still clutching her. He gave her a quick, but affectionate kiss and whispered into her ear, “I promise.” He then rushed over to join his companions as Sergeant Praxus informed them of the pending pursuit. Though he was exhausted from lack of sleep and the harrowing ordeal of the night before, Felix was grateful that he would be able to keep his oath to the woman he loved.
He came upon the rest of the Century, which was hurriedly grabbing enough equipment for the march. Men were rushing back with their packs, each man grabbing enough rations to sustain him for a few days and little else. As the Century started to make a semblance of a march formation Felix caught a glimpse of Sergeant Artorius slapping a prisoner across the face while Macro and Proculus interrogated him. When satisfied, Macro waved Artorius away, who rushed back to the barracks to grab his kit for the pending march. As the Decanus walked away Felix watched as Centurion Proculus grabbed prisoner by the throat and stabbed him repeatedly in the belly. The man slumped to the ground, twitching in the throes of death as Proculus walked back inside the building. Centurion Macro signaled for his horse, which he guided over to where his Century was still forming up.
“Section leaders, report when set!” he shouted as he and Flaccus mounted their horses. Artorius was among the last of the legionaries to arrive with his pack. Macro did a quick visual inspection of his men as the last of them reported they were ready. “Second Century…at the quick step, march!”
Erin was the first to see the Century leave the city. Their pace worried her. She rushed back to the little flat she occupied with Svetlana and found her mistress talking to a wine merchant. She dropped to a knee and hung her head.
“Domina, please forgive my interruption.” Erin was flushed and out of breath, which took Svetlana by surprise.
“What is it, child?” she asked, suddenly concerned.
“Master has left, along with a host of soldiers.” Without paying any further attention to the wine merchant Svetlana ran as fast as she could to the eastern gate of the city. She ran through the gates and almost into her grandfather, who was astride his horse, Odin.
“Grandfather, what’s happening?” she asked; her voice near panic.
“They’re in pursuit of the last of the rebels,” Olaf replied. “Hopefully they will put an end to this sickening affair once and for all.” Svetlana turned back to the scene of chaos within the city. Legionaries fought against the still-spreading fires and sought to keep the populace under control. She then turned back to where she could just make out the last of the Second Century as they crested over the side of a nearby hill. A single tear came to her eye.
“May Freyja protect you,” she said quietly.
Chapter XVI: Pursuit
“Bloody arrogant bastards!” Proculus seethed. He removed his helmet and threw it onto a nearby bench. He then sat down in a chair, hands in his hair. The tannery had been mostly saved and the Centurion was using it as a temporary headquarters. Vitruvius stood calmly by as the light of the early dawn crept through the open window. The entire Cohort, minus the Second Century, was still helping the citizens fight the fires before they spread throughout the entire city. By dawn it looked like they had prevented any further disaster, however it would be some time before all the fires were out. The Second was pursuing the rebels, though Proculus knew there was no chance of them catching their quarry before they reached their destination. And with Indus and his cavalry spread out throughout the region he had failed to leave himself a quick reaction force to pursue the rebels. This vexed him greatly.
“Proculus, I understand your need for haste, but trust me, it will not help us here,” Vitruvius remarked.
“I know,” the senior Centurion replied. “It is difficult though, when it strikes close to home.” Vitruvius nodded in understanding.
“A little faith in Macro and the Second will not go to waste. Remember, I served there for many years. And Sergeant Artorius I helped train. He is a resourceful individual. If anyone can pull off what he proposed, he can. Besides, it does no good to worry about it now. Their plan will work or it won’t. Either way, we cannot do anything about it. The action will be decided long before we arrive. We have other matters we need to attend to.”
“That we do.” With that, Proculus was on his feet. Vitruvius followed him to where there were several prisoners being guarded by legionaries. They were on their knees, hands bound behind their backs. They had been thrown to the Romans as they had been abandoned by their companions. They gazed at first in contempt, and then in horror as the enraged Centurion approached them with his gladius drawn. Their legionary guards took note as well and stepped away as Proculus slammed his gladius into the belly of one of the men. The rebel gasped in pain, his eyes growing wide, blood oozing from the wound. Proculus withdrew his gladius and kicked the man to the ground, where he lay twitching and convulsing violently.
The Centurion then swung his gladius hard in a backhand slash, ripping through the throat of his next victim. This one fell over backwards, his life’s blood gushing from the severed artery. Proculus stood trembling in rage, grinding his teeth hard as he sought to slay the rest of the prisoners. He was gently but firmly restrained by Vitruvius, who grabbed him by the shoulder and wrist from behind.
“Easy there,” the younger Centurion said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay, Sir.” Proculus lowered and nodded his head, his erratic breathing subsiding.
“Crucify the rest,” he ordered the nearby legionaries. “Let all bear witness to Rome’s answer to their impetuousn
ess and treachery.”
“Right away sir,” one of the men replied as they swarmed on the prisoners, who were now screaming and attempting to fight loose of their bonds. Vitruvius, his hands still on his Commander’s shoulder and wrist, slowly guided him back towards the billets. Proculus shook himself free of the Centurion’s grip and leaned against the side of the building.
“Thank you,” he said, unable to look Vitruvius in the eye. “I do not know what came over me, but I felt like I had lost all grip on my sanity.”
“You did what any one of us would have done,” Vitruvius replied. “Those men, if they can be called men, caused wanton destruction within this city. And this city is under our protection.” He deliberately avoided any further mention of Proculus’ estate or his cousin.
Diana could not believe what she saw. More than a hundred men stood outside the gates of the estate, all of them heavily armed and filthy. Among them was poor Proximo, his face battered and bruised.
“Oh Proximo,” Diana said when she caught sight of the man.
“Domina, please forgive me,” he said meekly. “I only wished to fetch some berries for my Lady.” One of the rebels shook the slave roughly by the hair.
“Yes, it would seem our lady’s taste for blueberries has cost her one slave,” the rebel said as his companions laughed at Proximo’s fate. Diana closed her eyes and thought hard. She was certain she would regret her decision, but she would not leave her faithful, albeit naively careless, servant in the hands of these wretches.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said, standing tall as she descended the steps that lead to the gate. She nodded to another servant who reluctantly removed the reinforcing brace. The rebels ran through, knocking servants aside, demanding wine and food. There was a Greek with them, who seemed to be their leader. Diana stormed over to him. As she approached, the Greek bowed low.