Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (46 page)

“We never do,” Artorius sta
ted bluntly, “at least not completely. Those I have loved and lost will always be with me, as Achillia will remain with you. But moving on does not mean you disrespect her memory.”

“I confess I’ve envied you for many years,” Magnus said
, his words startling Artorius. He was quick to explain. “You’re my best friend, and I’ve always wished for you nothing but happiness in life. I see what you have with Diana, and I wanted that. After I became a centurion, I was eligible to marry and should have found a viable wife to bear me sons; but I wanted more than just a breeding partner. I wanted that same bond you share with Diana. Roman society says that I’m a fool, and they’re probably right. After all, one simply does not marry for love.”

There was a deep sense of bitterness in Magnus’ demeanor, and Artorius surmised it was compounded by his wounds that were taking far too long to heal. He made mention of this to his friend.

“Well, I’m not exactly the lad of seventeen that I was when we joined the ranks,” the Norseman said with a sardonic chuckle. “I keep telling myself I’m not an old man, but the body does not heal like it once did. Still, I am making progress, albeit far more slowly than I can stand most days. The doctors don’t know if I’ll ever be fully fit to fight again; hell, most of them said I should have died of my wounds already so they’re left perplexed as it is!”

“
It is a strange paradox in that the legions keep us young in many ways, while at the same time aging us in others,” Artorius observed, thankful for the change of subject. “They keep us fit, well-fed, and even the lowest rankers are able to make a viable living on their wages.”

“Provided they don’t blow it all on getting shit-housed while fucking every whore in the province,
” Magnus noted. “Which many of them do.”

“Well
, of course I can only speak for myself,” Artorius persisted. “I am forty-six, yet some tell me I scarcely look a day over thirty. I still have all my hair with nary a trace of grey. And yet, while my face may be mostly devoid of wrinkles, it has its share of scars.”

“Which Roman society
frowns upon,” Magnus added. He then shook his head. “Rome expected us to fight her battles, keep the frontiers safe, and even conquer new lands. We did all of that, and now what? You and I are the fortunate ones, but what about the lads in the ranks, especially the more gravely wounded who can no longer continue to serve with the legions?”

“They are discarded like a broken piece of equipment that is no long
er needed,” Artorius said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I have served Rome all these years without question, yet I will not shy away from the dark side of the legions and pretend it does not exist. I am still haunted by the beggar I saw on the streets of Ostia who had served with us at Braduhenna. How many others end up like him? Crippled in battle, in service of the empire, yet unable to find work due to their injuries? Once we’re no longer of use to spill our enemies’ blood, we simply don’t matter anymore.”

There was a rather uncomfortable silence between the two for a few minutes. This was not the conversation he was hoping to have with his closest friend of the past three decades, but then what did he expect? He was quietly grateful when Magnus addressed this.

“I am sorry that we must speak of such bitter things,” the Norseman said slowly. “With your pending return to Rome and my remaining in Britannia for the foreseeable future, this could very well be the last time we ever see each other.”

His words bit deep into Artorius, though he was compelled to admit the possibility.
It created a paradox of feelings within him; the relief and joy at leaving the army and seeing his wife again, contrasting with the loss of his friends and the possibility of saying goodbye forever to the one who had been closest to him and carried him through so much over the years.

“Then perhaps it is good that we get out in the open that which has remained unsaid all these years,” he sighed.
“You said earlier that you’re not the same person you were when we first joined the ranks. I’ve had little else to do but contemplate lately, and I know that I little resemble what I was then.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Magnus conjectured. “To be brutally honest, you were a
hateful prick back then.”

“Well
, I was young and naïve,” Artorius chuckled. He was then serious for a moment. “I joined so that I could avenge my brother’s killing in Teutoburger Wald. Vengeance was what I lived for and I cared about nothing else. My father warned me that my lust for revenge could destroy me, and he was right; it damn near did. I’ll tell you something that I’ve never said to anyone. During our first campaign against Arminius and the Germanic alliance, I went there to die. I saw no future for me, especially with my brother dead and the love of my life abandoning me. Every time we went into battle I kept thinking to myself,
‘This is it, time to die’
. After we stormed the ramparts of Angrivarii, burned the place to the ground, and I was still left standing, I didn’t know what to do. It was as if God, the Fates, whatever you want to call it, was giving me another chance.”

“Well
, you did start to become more likeable after that,” Magnus said with a laugh. It was the first time they both were able to relax and genuinely smile since Artorius’ arrival. “That is quite a confession. I can’t say I’m surprised, though to be honest I had no idea during those early years.”

Artorius thought to perhaps finally tell Magnus about his vision, when he saw his deceased brother after the Triumph of Germanicus. That had been the turning point when the blackness finally started to leave his soul, and yet he could not bring himself to tell even his closest friend. Artorius had been all but an atheist when his brother, Metellus, appeared before him. Though he still did not know exactly what he believed regarding deities and divine powers, he did know in his heart that there was something beyond his mortal life. The years he and Magnus had spent in Judea had added more questions than they answered and had given them both as much of the surreal as either of them ever wanted to see for the rest of their lives. And while he had once proclaimed a crucified Nazarene teacher as
‘the Son of God’
, he was uncertain as to what that even meant. But then, perhaps he wasn’t meant to. He had reasoned that there was much that was unknown, and he would never understand fully.

“Hey, you still with me?” Magnus’ words startled him out of his reminiscing.

“Sorry about that,” Artorius replied, shaking his head. “Got lost in thought is all.”

“Yes, well you’ll have plenty of time for that now.”

“I can’t help but feel we’ve talked about so much, yet not really anything at all,” Artorius thought aloud. “Does that make any sense?”

“Not even a little bit,” his Nordic friend replied with a chuckle.
“And perhaps it’s not meant to. Still, it has been good to see you again. I know I much needed the company of my best friend again.”

“I think we both did,” Artorius emphasized.

“Yes, well I think I should be able to return to the legion, at least on light duty, within another month at the most. My optio no doubt is losing his mind trying to run the century by himself! I wonder what will happen then.”

“The names will change, but the faces will remain the same,” Artorius philosophized. “
And though I made it a point of not endorsing any potential candidate, I think you should stand for election as centurion primus pilus.”

“Oh
, I will jump into the foray there, don’t you worry about that,” Magnus said eagerly. “Of course we’ll see how well I am able to return to the ranks. And I also know that nothing is guaranteed, especially since I’m guessing Tyranus will make another attempt at becoming master centurion of the legion.”

“Of that I have no doubt. He does have two Civic Crowns and a formidable service record…”

“And he did acquit himself rather well at Mai Dun without getting himself tore up,” Magnus interrupted. “But no matter. If I don’t get the position, he’d better! Tyranus is probably the only centurion who I would not object to being a subordinate to. And if someone else gains the posting…well, then perhaps you will see me back in Rome after all!”

Towards the end of April, b
efore being allowed to depart for Rome, Plautius had ordered all soldiers encamped near the River Tamesis, in a settlement that now bore the name of
Londinium
, to hold a final formation honoring one of their own. In addition to the governor and Scapula, Vespasian, Sabinus, and Geta were also in attendance, as was Tribune Cursor, who had arrived from Aquae Sulis specifically for this occasion.

All present wore their armor highly polished, and the legates were in their finest regalia. Plautius stood on a raised platform, holding a gold crown adorned with jewels.

“Soldiers of the Twentieth Legion and honored guests,” he began. “Rome has three
Coronae Triumphales
/
the
Crowns of Triumph
. These are reserved for the commanders of legions, almost always senatorial legates. Today we honor one, who though not being of patrician birth, distinguished himself as Commander of the Twentieth Legion during the Conquest of Britannia.
Master Centurion Titus Artorius Justus…post!
”

It was a humbling experience, and one that helped bring the end of the campaign, as well as marking the
culmination of Artorius’ active career. He stepped onto the dais in full armor and removed his helmet. In Roman tradition, the gold and jeweled crown was never actually worn by the recipient. Instead, a simple laurel crown, like that worn by triumphant generals and even the emperor himself, was placed upon his head by Vespasian. Plautius presented the gold crown to Artorius with his left hand while clasping his right hand firmly. As the master centurion clutched the crown to his chest, Vespasian then read the order:

“By order of Emperor Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, and for exceptional leadership, valor, and selfless tenacity that resulted in the Twentieth Legion achieving victory in no less than three major battles during the Conquest of Britannia, the Corona Triumphalis is hereby awarded to Centurion Primus Pilus Titus Artorius Justus!”

The legion, as well as the assembled guests, broke into a loud ovation. Whether or not the
Corona Triumphalis
had ever been awarded to a soldier who had come up from the ranks, he could not say.
Regardless, it felt rather surreal to Artorius that he had been given such an esteemed honor, one normally reserved only for commanding generals of triumphant legions. Indeed it was quite irregular, despite his having been in command of a legion throughout the majority of the campaign. He would later learn that it was Vespasian who pressed Plautius to approve the endorsement, knowing that Claudius would not go against the recommendation of his commander-in-chief.

As the host of soldiers continued to shout accolades towards him, Artorius drew his gladius and hung the gold crown off the blade, which he then held high in salute to his brothers-in-arms. He knew that for most of these men, this would be the last time he ever saw them.
Soon he would depart for Rome, closing out this lengthy chapter of his life.

Chapter XXVII: Glory of Rome

Rome

May
, 44 A.D.

***

“The ships bearing your triumphant legions should be arriving within the next week
or so,” the emperor’s freedman, Narcissus, said as Claudius rose from his bath. Preparations had been taking place ever since his return the previous fall, and with word of Vespasian’s decisive conquest of the supposedly impenetrable barbarian hill fort of Mai Dun, the emperor had no qualms about proceeding with Rome’s first triumph in twenty-seven years.

“Triumphant,” Claudius replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Slaves dried him off and wrapped him in his robes as he continued to speak with the freedman, who was one of his closest advisors. “I w…wonder if I would have made my brother proud.”

“Undoubtedly, Caesar,” Narcissus asserted. Those two words meant much to Claudius, for Narcissus was not prone to false flattery and alw
ays spoke his mind to the emperor. “I have no doubt that the noble Germanicus is looking down upon you now from Elysium and feeling great pride in his younger brother.”

“He was
the great soldier,” Claudius remembered. He always felt invigorated after a plunge in the baths, and for a short time his limp was barely noticeable as he walked down the long corridor towards his private study. “And y…yet he never gave me cause for jealousy or resentment.”

“Your brother loved you very much,” Narcissus replied earnestly, for it was true. Claudius and Germanicus had always shared a very close bond, one that he’d never had with any other members of his family. “I think he would acknowledge that your leadership style was understandably different than his, though no less important.”

“From the official reports, as well as my o…own observations, I daresay we found my brother’s best qualities in our General Vespasian. Your recommendation that he be given a legion command has proven to be some of your soundest advice to me.”

“My loyalties have always been to Rome and to you,” the freedman stated
.

Claudius not
ed the emphasis on the empire before him, something he actually appreciated.

“Though relatively young, I knew he had unlimited potential,
” Narcissus added. “It just had to be unleashed in the proper environment.”

“Conquering a province certainly proved that,” Claudius remarked. “From the way Plautius and Sabinus talk, you would think Vespasian defeated our enemies single-handedly.”

“In some ways he did,” Narcissus said. “He captured more than twenty enemy strongholds with minimal losses amongst his legionaries. I suggest we keep him close to us. His humble birth may have slowed his early advancement, yet he proved himself a master of warfare in Britannia. He is also extremely loyal. I believe great things await him.”

“Yes,
” Claudius confirmed, “great things indeed.”

Adela marveled at the construction that was
already underway in the new Roman city that her husband was now mayor and magistrate of. Though the roads were still little more than hard-packed dirt with drainage on either side, she knew that in time they would be paved over. The center of the town had already been covered with cobblestones, with more permanent structures in the Roman style springing up at random.

It had been almost a year since Cursor left with the invasion force, though with the preparations that had to be made, Adela scarcely saw him during the two years of buildup following his appointment as commander of the army’s cavalry corps.
She had struggled immensely with her husband’s decision to return for one last campaign, even after he swore to never draw his weapon in anger again. That he had been compelled by the emperor to take the posting had helped Adela to forgive Cursor, though it did nothing to stop the bitter tears she shed on many a night.

Though she hated that he had been compelled to serve in battle once again, her feelings over time merged into a paradox of both sorrow and pride. She deeply admired her husband’s devotion to duty and extreme personal bravery.
After the initial landings, most of the news that reached Rome concerned the legions, though occasionally skirmishes fought by the cavalry would also be noted. As long as they continued to win battles, and she never had to see her husband’s name on the casualty lists, that was enough for Adela.

Upon hearing that the emperor’s triumph was set for that spring, she had decided that it was time to join her husband and start their new life together. He had written to her, telling her about his appointment as magisterial mayor of the new township of Aquae Sulis. She had noted a change in the demeanor of his letters. Like Plautius, Adela noted a far more exuberant manner in which Cursor now spoke. While their household goods would take a couple months to arrive, she had booked passage as far as Juliobona
1
in northern Gaul.

By chance, there happened to be a small shipping vessel bound for Aquae Sulis with a cargo full of salt, apparently to be used in the making of fish sauce. Since the only other way was to take a larger vessel to the main Roman settlements in the east and then risk a rather lengthy trip by land, Adela had elected to seek passage on the small ship. Though there was little to no room, and she was confined to sleeping amongst the salt casks, it mattered little to her. It took the vessel two days to round the southwest corner of Britannia, and then another day along the lengthy river that led to Aquae Sulis.

There was no port to be seen, only a handful of docks used by fishermen and the occasional merchant vessel. The climate was definitely cooler than what she was used to, and she wrapped her traveling cloak around her close as the ship dropped its small boarding ramp. Unsure where she was supposed to go, Adela stepped onto the dock, taking a moment to regain her balance before walking onto the grassy embankment with its dirt path that led into the settlement.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” The voice of the soldier startled her, but Adela was glad to see a Roman face. The man was in his plain red tunic, though his metal embossed belt and vine stick told her that he was a centurion.

“I’m looking for my husband, Tribune Cursor,” she said, causing the man to laugh.

“Of course, I know him well!” he said excitedly. “You must be Adela. The name’s Lucius Taurus, I’m one of your husband’s centurions. He sent me down to check on the salt shipment that just arrived. Come, I’ll take you to him.”

Adela let out a sigh of relief, glad that she had not been dropped in some foreign territory with no one who spoke Latin, much less knew who her husband was. Taurus’ name seemed familiar, probably from one of Cursor’s letters over the past three years.

They found him talking with a surveyor next to a large stone building that appeared to be about halfway complete. He still wore his military tunic, as he had not brought any civilian togas with him
during the campaign. Cursor was reviewing with the surveyor where they intended to run the sewer lines through the town when he looked up and saw his wife. His face broke into a broad smile and forgot all else in the world. Without a word, he took his wife into his arms and kissed her deeply, paying no mind to the fact that she was disheveled from the ride across the channel and along the river over the past few days.

“I…I wasn’t expecting to see you!” he said.

“My place is with you,” Adela replied, running her fingers along the side of his bald head. They kissed again and Cursor excused himself to the surveyor, taking his wife to his private quarters within the building.

“My dear,” Adela said, taking her husband’s hand as they walked the streets of the growing town later that afternoon, “I have not seen you looking this happy and content in many years, if ever.”

“Perhaps the waters from the thermae springs do have healing properties
after all,” Cursor said with a short laugh. He then let out an audible sigh, though his smile still remained. “I think I have finally found that which I sought all these years. I had to wade through the fires of hell, forced to break a sacred oath, and wield my sword once again. And yet, here I am, able to create instead of destroy. This is what I want; to bring civilization and a better life to very end of the empire. It doesn’t look like much now, but I hope to lay the foundations of a great city here, one that will rival even the imperial metropolises in Italia.”

Cursor then took his wife by the arm and proceeded to guide her over to the thermae springs. In a sense, the flowing waters signaled a rebirth for them. And rather than being consigned to oblivion, Aulus Nautius Cursor had at last found that which he had sought for years; peace.

The cool sea breeze refreshed Artorius as he leaned against the prow of the ship. Surprisingly enough, he had not gotten seasick at all during the three-week voyage from Britannia to Rome. The fleet that bore those fortunate soldiers who would take part in the emperor’s triumph had stopped over briefly at Carthago Nova in southern Hispania to resupply. Other than Centurion Valens ending up in a sordid affair with the magistrate’s daughter during their brief stay, the task force got back underway without incident. Early on the third day out from this last port call they had passed between Sardinia and Corsica. All were rapt with anticipation, for this marked the last stretch before they arrived in Rome. Soldiers had spent most of the day on the upper deck, watching the horizon for the first signs of the mainland as the ships lurched through the rolling waves. With the sun glowing red behind them in the west, legionaries anxiously gathered on the rail, hoping that they would reach Ostia before nightfall.

“The lads are anxious,” Vespasian
observed as he joined Artorius, who stood with his back against the rail on the upper deck.

“And you’re not?” Artorius chuckled
, his arms folded across his chest.

“I think we all are,” the legate confessed. “
My son is now four, and I have not seen him in over two years. Since we were not nobility by birth, I only hope that I’ve given him a worthy name by my actions in Britannia.”

“Nobility that is earned is far greater than nobility that one is simply born with,” Artorius noted. “I suspect that the conquest is only the beginning for you.”

“And yet for you it is the end,” Vespasian added.

The master centurion could only nod in reply.

For Artorius it was the ending of an age. Twenty-nine years had passed since he first enlisted into the legions. He was now forty-six years old; and like he told Magnus, he did not look or often feel the effects of his age, yet he knew he was a far cry from the vengeful seventeen-year old who joined the ranks of the Roman Army all those years ago. And while he felt a certain amount of trepidation about his future, there was also an immense sense of relief that he’d drawn a weapon in anger for the last time. There was life beyond the legions, and he was ever grateful to have his beloved Diana with which to share in the next chapter of his life.

The ship increased its speed; the sailors trying to get into port before darkness fell. The other ships in the flotilla also increased their speed, and it became a sort of race between the crews to see who could arrive in port first. The Ostia docks slowly came into view as the sky grew red, deceptively further away than they appeared. In that moment, Artorius’ thoughts were consumed by his wife, who he longed to see more than anything in this world. Knowing Diana, she had sent one of her servants to watch the seas every day since they received word that the triumphant legions were sailing for Rome. As he envisioned time and again taking her into his arms, Artorius reminded himself that the end was really just another beginning. The poets and storytellers would have it that the conquering heroes sailed gloriously into the sunset, yet never asking what happened when the sun rose again.