Soldier of Rome- Reign of the Tyrants

by James Mace

  As the melee unfolded, an even larger force of legionaries appeared from the mass of trees on their right. A further unleashing of thousands of javelins wrought even greater destruction upon Vindex’s wavering army. Men screamed in terror and agony, as both javelin and gladius bit into them like the teeth of a wild beast. Those who could flee did so. The remainder simply stood their ground, hoping they could take some of the perfidious imperial soldiers with them before they perished.

  “Gods damn it, Claudius!” Verginius shouted, as he raced up to his subordinate.

  “Ah, general,” the legate said with a casual nod, ignoring his commander’s outburst. “The rebels thought they’d be clever and make a run for the city, while you were meeting with their leader. We feared they might have played you false and taken you prisoner. As you can see, their treachery has undone them.”

  Verginius said nothing. It was his own fault for not at least including Claudius in his plans. With the enemy army making a run for the city, and having been left with no subsequent orders, the legate had rightly acted on his own. And as he watched his forces massacre those of Julius Vindex, any private thoughts Verginius may have had about sympathizing with the rebellion were quickly dashed.

  “Sir, the enemy army is on the run,” one of the staff tribunes said, as he rode up to his commanding general. “We were unable to completely close the gap to the west, and most of the rebels are fleeing.

  “Dispatch two wings of legionary cavalry and three regiments of auxilia horse to conduct the pursuit,” Verginius said, knowing there were no other options now. He had to be the loyal destroyer of the traitorous rebellion.

  “And what of the city itself?” the tribune asked. “Many of the rebels are fleeing for its perceived safety with our soldiers in pursuit. Are they to spare Vesontio?”

  Verginius hated himself for the next orders he gave, but he knew there was nothing for it. His legionaries had bloodied their blades in anger and would now wish to unleash their hatred upon the rebellious city. Were he to deny them, he risked upsetting the good order and discipline of the thousands of soldiers who not only felt the rebellious populace needed to be punished, but that they should reap the rewards of plundering the wealthy city.

  “No,” the commanding general said, fighting hard against the tears of sorrow and remorse that threatened to expose him. “The legions will sack the city, taking what they will in plunder and spoils.”

  Vindex practically fell from his horse, his rage and distress overcoming him as he dropped to his knees and cried out in anguish. Whether it was treachery or simply carelessness, all he had fought for was now lost. Months of preparations, the cultivating of allies, formation of an army and, finally, what had seemed to be the diplomatic victory of bringing the Rhine legions into the fold, were now undone.

  He tried to slow his breathing, while unbuckling the straps of his armor. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. In the distance, he could still hear the din of battle, as well as the additional screams of terror from within Vesontio.

  “This is not over,” he said quietly, his eyes staring into the moonlight that glared off the river. The peaceful and rather serene view contrasted sharply with the scene of death from which he had just fled. He shuddered to think of the fate that awaited the poor citizens of Vesontio. They had heeded the call to revolution and were now paying the price in brutality, rape, and pillage.

  “But we all had to pay the ultimate price for liberty,” Vindex spoke, as he slowly got to his feet. He picked up his scabbarded spatha and looked towards the moonlight reflecting off the water. “Nero’s reign of terror grows short, and from the ashes of this great calamity will arise a new beginning. But for you, Julius Vindex, your role in this great tragedy is over.”

  He unsheathed his weapon, tossing the scabbard away. Gazing up at the full moon, he closed his eyes, and drove the spatha into his chest. The point slipped easily between two of his ribs, as he thrust with the last of his determined strength. With a final gasp, he fell onto his back. His view of the moon fading, as peaceful darkness overtook him.

  For Verginius, his victory filled him with mournful regret rather than triumph. The morning following the battle, he somberly walked the field littered with corpses. The pathetic groans of agony from thousands of badly wounded combatants reverberated in a chorus of pain. The commanding general did not enter the city itself, for he did not wish to see the destruction his forces had wrought. They had been ordered not to burn the city; however, the citizens had been shown little mercy. Most of the women had been raped, with many beaten or killed, regardless of age or sex. Legionaries were seen leaving the city, their packs filled with plundered valuables. A number of slaves from within Vesontio had been stolen from their masters by the rampaging soldiers.

  Claudius Zeno soon joined his commander. Even the general who had ordered the legions into battle, and had been rather nonchalant as they slaughtered the rebels and sacked Vesontio, was moved by the scene of death.

  “What have we done?” Verginius asked, refusing to hide his sadness any longer.

  “You have won a great victory, general,” the legate replied.

  Verginius turned to face him and immediately understood what was meant.

  “The rebellion has been crushed, and for all we know, Julius Vindex is probably dead. Rome is safe once more, and it is because of you.”

  Claudius’ words rang true to the commanding general, for whether he had given the order for the legions to attack or not, he had to bear full responsibility for his army’s actions. It was all strangely perverse to him, though what transpired next went beyond the realm of the surreal.

  “Victory is yours, general!” a soldier shouted.

  Verginius turned to see a host of his legionaries walking towards him. Many still had their blood-soaked weapons drawn. All were filthy, exhausted, and covered in the sweat and blood of their brutal exertions.

  “Rome has found her true protector!” another man shouted, raising his gladius in the air.

  “The men will follow you anywhere, sir,” one of the legates from the Lower Germania detachments emphasized. “They know it is you who protects the empire, not Nero!”

  “Let us follow you, sir, as emperor!” a legionary shouted.

  This was met with a series of boisterous affirmations from the growing assembly of his soldiers.

  “Give us the word, sir, and we will march on Rome and proclaim you Caesar!”

  “No!” the general snapped, shaking his head quickly. “We did not crush one rebellion only to become traitors ourselves. We serve Rome, not our own selfish desires. Cease in this madness at once!” While Verginius knew he was well-respected by the men of his legions, he never once suspected they would view him as a more worthy emperor than the man whom they swore their oaths to. Throughout the entire army, soldiers in the ranks were speaking openly about how they would follow Verginius, and that it was he who should rule Rome.

  “The empire could have been yours, sir,” Claudius said, later that evening.

  “I’m no usurper,” Verginius emphasized. “Strange, that our men were eager to put down the rebellion with the sword, yet before they’d even sheathed their bloody weapons, they began to chant of insurrection themselves. I take it you also suspect Nero’s hold on the empire is slipping.”

  “The Gauls will keep quiet now,” his legate speculated. “Only a very small number of them rebelled in the first place. It all depends on what Galba does. Of course, once he hears about how we crushed Vindex, he may despair and end his own life.”

  “Even so, it won’t be long before another potential usurper rises up,” Verginius reasoned. “Not much we can do about it for now, though.”

  “With this rebellion crushed, shall we make the army ready to march back to the Rhine?” Claudius asked. “I think we’ve worn out our welcome with the people of Vesontio.”

  “No,” Verginius said. “We’ll relocate to the crossroads, ten miles east. Have the army begin fortifications and p
lan for an extended stay in Gaul.”

  “What do you intend to do, sir?” a legate asked.

  “To serve Rome,” Verginius responded evasively. Knowing this would not suffice, he added, “We need to remain here, so that we might know the intentions of the other provinces within the western empire.”

  “And what of Galba?” Claudius asked.

  “We will wait and see what he does,” the governor-general replied.

  Claudius subtly nodded in understanding, as he took a long pull off his wine. The rebellion of Julius Vindex may have been over, but both legates suspected that the great game itself had only just begun.

  Chapter VII: The Artorian Legacy

  Ariminum, Northeast Italia

  1 May 68 A.D.

  ***

  While all of Rome was in a state of turmoil waiting for news from the war in Gaul, for Lucius Artorius Magnus the days were filled with administrative tedium. He had reluctantly travelled to Ariminum after a very short leave in Ostia where, unsurprisingly, he won the seat as governor of the city. The outgoing governor, who held the position for over ten years, had personally recommended Lucius, as he had been close friends with Lucius’ father, Metellus.

  Word had not yet reached Ariminum, nor Rome for that matter, about Vindex’s defeat and suicide. As such, Lucius found himself lamenting his being compelled to leave the legions on the Rhine.

  “It has long been the duty of the Artorians to serve Rome in battle,” he explained to his wife, Laura, who joined him in his study one evening. “My father served in the ranks, as did his father, and his father before him. By hades, my little brother has been given the chance to fight for Rome!”

  Laura noticed the crumpled parchment upon his desk and realized it was the source of his frustration. She walked over to her husband and placed an arm around his shoulders.

  “I should be grateful,” Lucius said, more so to convince himself than his wife. “To be governor of such a prosperous city as Ariminum at my age is certainly uncommon, especially as I am only a second generation equestrian. I wasn’t even born into the equites, but was a boy of nine when my father retired from the legions. It was his rank and exceptional service that won our family its place among the equites.”

  “Your father is an honorable man, and a brave one,” Laura remarked.

  Lucius could only nod. He had feared greatly for both his parents, when word of the rebellion in Britannia, seven years prior, reached him. Though he had been raised in Aqua Sulis, his parents later settled in Colchester, which had served as a community for veterans. When Boudicca’s army sacked the city, the old soldiers had made a brave stand, yet, in the end they were overwhelmed. The barbarians killed everyone, sparing neither sex nor age. Lucius would never know just how many family friends perished during that hellish time. His parents, Metellus and Marcia, had had the foresight to flee the settlement well ahead of Boudicca’s army of rampaging barbarians. After a harrowing three-week trek through the dense woods and untamed lands, they had found the imperial army under Suetonius Paulinus. Metellus had offered his sword to the governor-general, and was later praised once more for his extreme valor when Paulinus’ army finally crushed the barbarian horde.

  Laura knew the stories well, for her father had been both friend and admirer of Metellus Artorius Posthumous, and had offered his only daughter to the old soldier’s unwed eldest son. It was Metellus’ reputation that further aided Lucius in his run for councilman in Ariminum, and once again when he stood for mayor, following his return from compulsory service as a military tribune.

  “You are also an honorable man, my love,” Laura said, as she kissed him on top of his head and rubbed his tense shoulders. “There is much to be said for what you have already accomplished.”

  Lucius reached up and clutched her hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. “Death or Glory seems to be the unofficial dictum of the Artorians,” he observed. “One of my grandfathers was killed in Teutoburger Wald when he was only nineteen. Several of the survivors praised him for saving their lives, and so his spirit lived on through them. That was his legacy. But what of me? Will any remember the name Lucius Artorius Magnus, or will the legacy that I leave for our children be settling petty land disputes and vetoing frivolous lawsuits?”

  “You expect too much of yourself,” Laura said, consolingly. “This is a great opportunity for you and for the family.” She paused and smiled. “And besides, you cannot exactly father any children when you’re running off with the legions...at least not with me.”

  This got a much-needed laugh from Lucius. He turned and stood, wrapping his arms around his wife, and kissed her passionately. “You know you are the only woman I will ever have children with,” he sighed. “I just realized it’s been almost ten years since I last saw my little brother. I often wonder how he’s doing, if he’s even still alive. I hear many terrible stories about the war in Judea. Gaius’ legion, the Tenth Fretensis, suffered some terrible losses at the sieges of Jotapata and Gamala. But since I am not there to protect him, I can only offer my prayers to the gods that he will be kept safe.”

  As Lucius lay his head on his wife’s shoulder, Laura kissed him gently once more. She had never met her brother-in-law, though with as much as her husband talked about him, it was as if she’d known him all his life. And while Lucius may have harbored certain feelings of envy towards Gaius, these were far surpassed by the love he had for him. Though only a year separated the two in age, from the time they were little Lucius had always felt responsible for protecting Gaius. Some of the ill feelings he’d had over the years, since Gaius departed for the legions, stemmed from the constant reminder that he was no longer there to watch over his younger brother.

  Thousands of miles to the east, the rhythmic pounding of legionary sandals thumped along the dirt road that led towards the bridge crossing of the River Jordan. They approached from the east, having recently been sent by Vespasian into the neighboring Kingdom of Idumea. It had amounted to little more than a minor incursion, as the Idumeans quickly sued for terms with Rome, rather than face the terrifying onslaught that had devastated much of Judea and Galilee over the past two years.

  These particular soldiers were from the Fifth Cohort of General Trajan’s Legio X, Fretensis. Among them was an optio named Gaius Artorius Armiger. The younger brother of Lucius Artorius Magnus, Gaius had remained entangled in the savage war that had engulfed Judea for the past two years. Twenty-six years of age, he was a veteran of both the Jewish and Armenian wars, and a highly experienced soldier and leader. As optio, he was second-in-command of an eighty man century of legionaries, under the command of his friend and longtime mentor, Centurion Claudius Nicanor.

  Their latest encounter had been less of a battle and more of an unholy slaughter of nearly twenty thousand rebel sympathizers. These people had fled the nearby towns and villages, becoming trapped between Trajan’s division and the swollen river. Many drowned in the deceptively strong currents. Those unwilling to chance the river were mercilessly cut to pieces. Theirs had thus far been the only military actions for the eastern armies since the ending of the winter rains and the coming of spring.

  With the Idumeans cowed into submission, and the pockets of resistance now brutally crushed, this ended any possible trade routes the rebels could hope to use to the east of Jerusalem. And with northern Galilee and the western coastline all under imperial control, while rival zealots controlled the south, the noose was beginning to tighten around the stalwart holdouts in the Jewish Holy City.

  “Cohort!”

  “Century!”

  “Halt!”

  An imperial courier had just come over the bridge with a message to the cohort’s commander, a centurion pilus prior named Galeo.

  “We’re to link up with the rest of the legion near Jericho,” Galeo told his assembled centurions, after reading the dispatch.

  “Does Vespasian intend to attack Jerusalem?” Centurion Nicanor asked.

  “No,” Galeo replied. “It wo
uld appear the various rebel factions are now embroiled in an extremely bitter civil war. General Vespasian has ordered a pause in all military operations, with the exception of putting down any resistance in otherwise pacified districts.”

  “Let the stupid fuckers kill each other off,” another centurion chuckled. “We lay waste to their land, burn their cities, rape their women, enslave their children, and yet they still insist on fighting each other. Poor dumb bastards.”

  “Makes our job that much easier,” Galeo shrugged. He then added with a trace of gloom, “Not that any of this has been easy.”

  The prior campaign season had been a severe test of his mettle, as well as that of all his fellow soldiers in the Tenth Legion. Indeed, the entire imperial army in the east had suffered greatly, as every significant victory seemed to come at a terrible cost. Brutal sieges of rebel strongholds, such as Jotapata and Gamala, had been severe, claiming a brutal toll in dead and wounded. Every unit was now well under strength, with Nicanor and Gaius’ own century consisting of perhaps fifty men in the ranks.

  It was now late afternoon, and the Fifth Cohort was making ready to camp for the night. Centurion Galeo felt, since it would be well after dark by the time they could join up with the rest of the legion, it was best if they made a fresh start in the morning.

  Roman auxiliary forts had been established on either side of the bridge a few months prior, patrols constantly roaming the area. Even though this added a sense of safety and stability, the cohort still went about its usual task of entrenching around their camp, while fortifying earthen ramparts topped with palisade stakes.

  The century’s tesserarius, an old soldier named Julius, supervised most of the work details, while Nicanor and Gaius walked the perimeter.

  “Looks like we’ll be getting a bit of a reprieve this campaign season,” Nicanor said.