Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “Are you alright, my Lady?” Kiana’s words startled Diana. She wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. The young girl cocked her head to one side in contemplation. “Who is he?”

  “What are you talking about?” Diana did not wish to trouble this child, who was nearly young enough to be her daughter, with her personal problems.

  “I heard you say ‘my brave soldier.’ I just wondered who he is.” Kiana’s face broke into a smile as Diana laughed nervously.

  “A brave man,” she said after a pause. “He swore to protect me. I did not ask for his protection, and in truth at first I resented the idea of a plebian soldier thinking it was his right to save me.”

  “You don’t resent him now, do you?” Kiana asked, taking her hand. Diana shook her head slowly.

  “No,” she replied, her voice choking up.

  “My sister, Tierney, had grown close to one of these Romans, and it was through them that I learned the name of that man who still haunts my nightmares.”

  “What is his name?” Diana asked, unconsciously clutching Kiana’s hand.

  “He’s called Artorius…Sergeant Artorius,” Kiana replied. Diana’s breath escaped her and she briefly shut her eyes. She quickly composed herself, hoping the young woman had not noticed her reaction. She had. “You know him, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Diana answered with a sigh, taking her hand from Kiana’s. The young girl reached out and grabbed it back, surprising her.

  “He’s the one you spoke of, isn’t he?” Kiana was at first horrified when Diana nodded in reply.

  “Tell me he is not the demon that haunts me,” she persisted, her own eyes now wet with tears.

  “He’s not,” Diana said reassuringly. “He is a soldier of Rome, and soldiers are often called upon to do barbaric things. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it.” What she had already said seemed enough to satisfy Kiana, who released her hand and leaned back in her chair.

  “All this time I have wanted revenge until it made a black hole in me. That want became stronger than the memories of Farquhar and it consumed me. It never occurred to me to blame Heracles, who killed him as surely as if he was the one who put the sword in my love.”

  “Your reaction is a very natural thing Diana said, soothingly. Kiana shook her head, her voice starting to shake.

  “I have done many wicked things,” she said, covering her eyes with her hand, “all in the name of avenging my lover. And yet the people that Heracles tortured and killed had nothing to do with Farquhar’s death. Many were remnants of the rebellion just looking to move on with their lives. He would have none of it. Either they would follow him in his madness, or they suffered a violent death at the hands of his thugs. By the time I realized what they were doing, it was too late; I was already in this too deep. I turned my back on my sister and could no longer go to her, for she had taken that legionary as her lover! I was kept from her, lest I accidentally say anything that could be used by the Romans.” Her chest heaved as she sobbed quietly. “What have I done?”

  “What’s done is done,” Diana said, standing over Kiana and placing both hands on her shoulders. The girl looked up at her, her eyes red and damp. “Now we must stick together if we are going to survive. We are both hostages now, and should things turn for the worse, I daresay these bastards will not hesitate to kill us both.” Kiana leaned against the railing.

  “Well I intend to make amends for what I have done,” she said. Diana smiled weakly and then turned back towards the open-air of the night. She leaned against the railing and let out a sigh. She knew Proculus would send troops to pursue the rebels, but how many she did not know. She then thought once more about Sergeant Artorius and the promise he made to her.

  “Promise me one thing,” Kiana said. Diana turned her head towards her, a curious smile forming. Kiana’s own face was cold and serious. “Obviously this Artorius cares a great deal for you and I can tell by the way you spoke of him that you care for him also.” Diana smiled and blushed. “Promise that you will let something come of that. I lost my love; don't throw something this precious away.”

  “I promise,” Diana replied, a wave of relief washing over her. If Kiana could find it in her to forgive the soldier who had slain her love then perhaps redemption was possible for her.

  In truth she enjoyed Artorius’ infatuation with her. It made her feel wanted, which was something she had not felt in many years, if ever. She knew she was very attractive, and had often been called ‘beautiful.’ She was well educated and could hold an intelligent conversation with the most knowledgeable scholars. Yet for all that she was alone in the world. Her inability to bear children was black mark that erased all her qualities that would make her a very desired wife. No man of substance would have her, and indeed it had been a long time since she had last been in the company of a man. And even that lasted only long enough for him to learn of her burden. She sighed quietly. Was this what she was reduced to; being nothing more than the subject of infatuation for a boyish legionary?

  She could not deny that Sergeant Artorius was an attractive young man, and in truth she was fascinated by the incredibly large and muscular body that lurked scarcely hidden beneath his tunic and armor. She laughed briefly, remembering his young face that made him look almost adolescent in sharp contrast to his strong body. She remembered him saying that he had served under Germanicus Caesar in the wars against the Cherusci, so she knew he had to be older than he looked. Still, she was fast approaching thirty and was certain that he was at least a few years younger than she. She took a deep breath, her fears for Artorius overtaking her. Though not a religious woman, Diana raised her head to the stars and prayed to any who would listen. She hoped that at least the goddess whose name she bore would hear her words.

  “Apollo and Diana, I have never prayed to you before. But now I beseech you; please show mercy on the bravest of men who comes for me. Guide and protect him; do not let him sacrifice himself in vain.” At the last of her words a sharp gust of cold wind struck her in the face. She gasped in terror at the omen. It was as if the gods were telling her, “No!” She started to tremble, fear washing over her.

  The sound of light snoring interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Kiana had curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, fast asleep. Diana could not help but smile sadly. Yes, Kiana had certainly been manipulated into taking part in the slave rebellion. And yet she could not help but pity her. Kiana was almost young enough to be her daughter and that brought out a small amount of maternal affection for her. She took a blanket and laid it over her before returning to the balcony to brood over their ever-worsening situation. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, thinking about the young soldier who had sworn to protect her. If the gods stood against him, what chance did he have?

  “Section leaders with me,” Macro ordered, motioning forward. Artorius, Praxus and the others crept forward with their Centurion. The rest of the Second Century stood fast in the grove of trees. Slowly the Century’s leaders made their way to where the trees broke up. The estate came into view. It was completely walled, with a gate on the south side. The local town was off in the distance, about five miles to the east.

  “Well?” Macro asked, looking at Artorius. The young Decanus looked intently at the estate walls, trying to guess where the best place to breach would be. He smiled as he saw his answer.

  “Over there, on the west side,” he replied, pointing to a section of the west wall. There was a massive oak growing near the outside rampart, and it looked like some of its branches reached close to the wall. “Decimus could get up there easily enough. He throws down a rope, and up we go. Once inside, I will have one group dispatch the sentries on the wall, while the other gets the gate open.”

  “I suggest we do this close to dawn. That way Artorius’ men can have cover of darkness, but we can also have it close to light once the Century breaches,” Praxus observed. Macro nodded.

  “I agree,” he replied. “If we all get inside while it
is still dark, too much chance of rebels escaping and of us killing innocents on the inside.”

  “I am going to have my men leave their helmets, javelins and shields behind,” Artorius added. “The javelins and shields are too cumbersome, and the helmets are a dead giveaway as to our identities.”

  “Alright,” Macro nodded, “after dark, move your men into position. The rest of us will form up as close as we can to the main gate, while maintaining cover in the trees. By the time the sun comes up, you had better have that damn gate open!”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Sir,” a voice behind the Centurion startled him. He turned to see Legionary Felix standing rigid. “Permission to accompany Sergeant Artorius on the raid.” Macro folded his arms across his chest and sternly glared at the young soldier.

  “Artorius has enough men to accomplish his mission, what reason do you have for wishing to accompany him?” Macro knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Felix personally. Praxus stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Answer the Centurion!” he said sharply. Felix cast his eyes downward, momentarily unsure of himself, before finding his resolve and looking Macro hard in the eye.

  “I made a promise, Sir,” he replied. “The girl Kiana is with the rebels, but I think she is there under duress. I swore an oath to her sister that I would personally bring her back.”

  “An oath you were in no position to make,” Praxus observed, sternly. Macro nodded affirmatively.

  “Quite,” he replied. “You would have me risk one of my men for some Gallic brat who I would just as soon crucify.” Felix gulped hard before answering.

  “Yes sir. She was corrupted, much in the same manner as the noble youths who Sacrovir led to their deaths but a year ago. She is not evil, sir.”

  “Walk with me, both of you,” Macro said to both Felix and Praxus. When they were out of sight of the rest of the Century he turned and glared at the two men.

  “Take off your helmet,” Macro said, calmly. Felix grimaced, but complied. He stood erect, his helmet underneath his arm, as the Centurion brought his fist around in a hard blow across his ear. The loud slap of his fist striking the young soldier caused Praxus to wince. The legionary surprisingly managed to keep his footing and stood rigid in front of Macro once more.

  “That was for your bravado,” the Centurion growled. “I will have legionaries of valor in my Century, but not glory-seeking fools who make oaths to skirts that they cannot possibly keep!”

  “Yes sir, it will not happen again,” Felix replied. He swallowed hard before speaking again, knowing the consequences of his words. “Do I still have your permission to accompany Sergeant Artorius?” Praxus and Macro could not keep from grinning at the legionary’s persistence. The Centurion cuffed him across the ear once more, shook his head and walked back to where the rest of the section leaders were still gathered. He could be seen talking to Artorius, who nodded in reply to Macro’s unheard instructions. Felix took a deep breath as Praxus patted him on the shoulder.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you, Felix, you’ve got balls!” the Decanus said as he started after Macro. The legionary stood dumbfounded when a minute later Artorius walked over and signaled for Felix to follow him.

  “Are you coming or not?” Artorius asked with a broad smile and a wink.

  Chapter XVII: Raiders in the Night

  Sounds of drunken merriment could be heard from inside the estate grounds. Artorius smiled to himself. If the lot of them were drunk, then they would be easier to overwhelm. He crouched low against the base of the tree; a large oak, whose branches nearly reached over to the wall. The rest of his section lay prone on either side of him, as Decimus started up the tree. A coil of rope hung over his shoulder.

  Slowly and deliberately the legionary scaled the branches of the massive oak. Like most of his section, he was devoid of shield, helmet, or javelins. Only their body armor and sword belt did any of them bring, with Gavius carrying a pair of javelins. As Decimus climbed higher, he was able to see over the wall through the branches. Two sentries stood not ten feet from him. Both were drunk, and one was passed out. Decimus gave a sadistic grin. He looked to his left and right to see if any others were on the wall. There were none that he could see.

  “Get up, you drunken sod,” the conscious sentry slurred, kicking his companion, who only groaned and rolled over onto his side. Decimus slowly stepped out onto the branch that reached closest to the wall. Gingerly he stepped, trying to maintain silence, as well as his balance. Five feet separated him from the wall when he reached the furthest point to where he thought the branch would support his weight.

  The legionary took a slow, deep breath, as he readied himself to jump. Ignoring any pangs of doubt, he leaped as hard as he could, landing feet first on the rampart. Without losing his momentum, he drew his gladius and lunged at the sentry. The man was laughing and had turned towards Decimus as he raised his wine flask to drink. Before his eyes could comprehend what he saw, Decimus grabbed him by the hair and with a harsh, backhand slash, sliced his throat open. His jugular seemed to explode, blood gushing in torrents. The wine flask dropped with a silent thump to the ground. Decimus grabbed his victim with both hands, slowly lowering him to the ground. He then stepped over to where the other sentry was passed out, where he rammed his gladius into the side of the gladiator’s neck. The man only made a slight grunting sound, and Decimus doubted that he even woke before death took him, blood flowing freely and merging with his slain companion’s.

  Artorius and the rest of the section waited below impatiently, fearing the worst. Then suddenly the rope was thrown over the side, uncoiling on its way down. Artorius smiled, motioned for his men to follow him, and proceeded to climb up the wall. Once at the top, he took a second to appreciate the work Decimus had done in dispatching the two sentries. In less than a minute, the entire section was over the wall. Felix quickly recovered the rope and coiled it over his shoulder. Artorius then motioned for Decimus to take Carbo and Gavius to the right, while he took Magnus, Felix, and Valens to the left. Decimus nodded and started off with the other legionaries towards the main gate.

  As they crept along the wall, keeping to the shadows, Artorius listened intently for any signs of the enemy. They hunkered down when they saw three more gladiators standing around laughing and joking, obviously drunk. Artorius looked back at his companions and motioned for them to rise. He then walked very casually towards the men, his gladius drawn, but behind his back. The men paid them little heed as they walked right up to them.

  “Nice night,” Artorius said, as Magnus and Valens tried to walk past the men.

  “Sure is,” one of the gladiators said, boisterously. “Nice night for drinking!” The others laughed at his remark.

  “Say, who the hell are you guys?” one of the men asked, puzzled. As he said this, Magnus grabbed him roughly from behind, covering his mouth with one hand and ramming his gladius into his back with the other. With a flash, both Artorius and Valens stabbed their opponents underneath the rib cage. Felix stabbed another in the back of the neck as the man tried to stumble away. Little sound was made by the stricken gladiators, so great was their drunkenness and surprise. What sounds they did make were drowned out by the revelry coming from the main house.

  Artorius looked to the east, and could just make out the faint glow of the predawn. The sun would be coming up soon.

  “Shit,” he muttered to himself. “We had best get moving.”

  Diana stared out her window, arms resting on the railing. Thank goodness she was their only chance at freedom; therefore, she would not be violated. Although she was a reluctant hostage, she was irrationally upset that she didn’t fight harder. She rolled her eyes at herself. If she had, she still would have lost and have a few bruises at that. She sighed. Once again something completely out of her control interfered with what she was trusted. Though it would have been impossible for her to keep the men from taking the estate she had still been entrusted to take care of it. S
he became sad when she thought of how disappointed Proculus might be and that she would be a failure again.

  As she gazed into the darkness, Diana looked upon a group of drunken louts on the rampart. She shook her head at the sight. It sickened her to watch these men violate her family’s house with their vile filth. Suddenly three were viciously cut down by the others. At first Diana thought it was a drunken brawl. Then she realized the calculated precision with which the men were dispatched. In the faint light, she was able to recognize the armor the assailants wore. It was not typical gladiator garb by any means. No, these men were legionaries! Diana’s emotions almost got the best of her in the excitement. It would seem that Proculus had arrived, and he would not be negotiating with these men! She then cursed herself for allowing her weapon to be taken from her. Once the rebels realized that the Romans would not parlay with them, her own safety would be greatly imperiled. Suddenly the door was flung open. Diana turned quickly away from what she had seen, moving inside so as to not draw any unwanted gazes towards the soldiers who she hoped to find her salvation in. Heracles stood in the doorway, hands behind his back. He looked sober, or at least more sober than the rest.

  “I realized that I never got a chance to thank you properly for your hospitality,” he said. There was no malice in his voice. Under different circumstances, Diana would have believed his words to be genuine. Heracles was not unattractive by any means. Indeed he stood out from amongst the rabble he commanded. It was the cold hate in his eyes that betrayed him. Diana simply glared.

  “You have a strange concept of hospitality,” she retorted, eyes narrowed, arms crossed defiantly. “You break into my family’s house, hold myself and all the servants as hostages, threaten our lives, and then proceed to destroy everything I have worked for with your drunkenness!” Heracles looked down for a second before returning her gaze.