Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (29 page)

It was
midafternoon when he walked back towards his billet, cleaned and wearing a fresh tunic. Though there was much activity going on at most of the barracks, the Third Cohort’s was dead as a tomb. As he walked by he could hear the audible snores coming from most of the section bays. He quietly opened the door to where his section was bunked and could hear the sounds of slumber coming from his men. Only Magnus had opted to go to the bathhouse right away as well, and he had not yet returned. Artorius knew he would sleep better now that he was cleaned and his muscles relaxed by the heated water. It was not until he lay down that the ordeal of the last four days hit him fully. He closed his eyes and did not open them again until well into the next morning.

Whilst Artorius and his legionaries slumbered, a tense silence gathered over Augustodunum as the rebels occupying the city awaited their leaders’ orders.

“Our men are fully equipped and ready to move against the Romans,” Taranis reported. Sacrovir stood on the balcony and gazed over the city. People were cautiously milling about, though many were fearful of Sacrovir and his army. Even more so, they feared that the Romans would lay siege to their town and destroy it.

“Still no word from Florus?” he asked
after a long pause. Taranis shook his head.

“None.
We should have heard from him by now. I wonder if his efforts to succor the Treveri were in vain; or worse if he fell afoul of the Roman Army.”

“We will have to move without him,” Heracles remarked, walking out onto the balcony.
“We should have attacked the Romans much sooner. Their four Cohorts have now expanded into two full legions, plus several Cohorts from surrounding garrisons. Had we done so, we could have wiped out their little force before these arrived.”

Sacrovir turned to face him.
“Heracles, I appreciate your candor as always.  However, I have made it a point of defeating the Romans when they muster their forces.  It will have a much deeper impact than for us to have simply routed a few cohorts holed up in a tiny fort.” “Well, I do agree with our Greek friend that we should attack soon,” Taranis replied. “Our forces are not nearly as large as we had hoped, though they are still significant enough to smash two legions.”

“We
must
move now, before they bring up any more troops,” Heracles continued. “We have trained our men on how to fight against the Roman legions, but our army still lacks the unnerving discipline that the Romans possess.”

Sacrovir
looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded. “I agree with your assessment, Heracles.  Two legions will have to suffice for the slaughter.  Our forces outnumber theirs nearly four to one.  We will shatter their pathetic formations and feed them to the wolves!”

Secretly Heracles wondered whether or not they had waited too long. Two legions of Roman soldiers was a formidable force, no matter how badly outnumbered.

“They are on the move!” a legionary shouted as he ran up to Agricola.

The
centurion rushed to the edge of the wood line to see for himself. Augustodunum’s gates were open with thousands of armed men pouring out. Agricola swallowed hard when he saw how well many of them were equipped.

Though there were many light tro
ops amongst their ranks, a significant number were completely encased in armor. These particular troops wore gladiator helmets, and each carried a small buckler and gladius. Agricola surmised that these would make up the van of Sacrovir’s army. Thankfully they had no cavalry to speak of, only their senior leaders riding on horses.

Agricola signaled to his
tesserarius. “Take my horse and ride like hell back to the rest of the army.  Tell Legate Silius that the enemy is on the move.  Ask him to send a dispatch rider to me.  I will update him as to the enemy’s progress at that time.”

“I’ll come back myself,” the
tesserarius replied. Agricola nodded in reply and waved for him to go.

“Optio Castor!”
the centurion called.

His second came running over from the line.
“Sir?” “Get the men on their feet and ready to move. Leave six of our best runners with me. We will keep a visual on the enemy while you take the rest to link back up with the cohort.”

“Right away,” the
optio acknowledged.
“First Century, on your feet!”

“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” Agricola said to his
tesserarius as the man saluted, turned his mount, and rode away at a gallop. The centurion then turned to see his six runners awaiting his orders.

“Alright lads,” he said, “let’s get back up to the tree line and see what those bastards are up to.
I want you to take notes on everything you see. Get as accurate a count as you can regarding their overall strength, as well as light and heavily armed troops. Any questions?”

T
he men shook their heads.

“Let’s get this done.”

Artorius was lounging next to the open gate of their tiny fort when he saw the rider approaching.
He recognized the man as Agricola’s tesserarius, and he was riding for all he was worth. He rode into the camp of the main force and looked to be headed right for the Principia, where Silius’ headquarters was posted.

“Anything good happening?”
Magnus asked with a yawn.

Artorius had not even noticed his friend walking up to him.
He could only nod in reply.

“Make sure the lads are up.
If they haven’t had breakfast, have them do so now. I sense that we may be moving soon.”

There was a flurry of excitement going on in the main camp.
Artorius knew it would not be long before the order to move was given. He was suddenly thankful that he had gotten a full night’s sleep, for his body had sorely needed it. He was still a little stiff, but his muscles would loosen up once they were on the march. It would not be long before the issue was decided, and Artorius was tired of waiting.

“I agree with Agricola’s assessment that the enemy intends to face us here,” Calvinus remarked as he pointed to a section on Agricola’s map that showed an open plain just a few miles away.

“We can get there well before Sacrovir does and deny the terrain to him,”
Chief Tribune Decius replied.

Silius sat with his chin resting in his hand.
“What do you guys think?” he asked his first centurions, who always were part of the legion’s tactical planning.

“I say let Sacrovir have it,” Draco offered. “That terrain will work more to our advantage than his. It will be a confusing mess if we try and fight him in the woods.”

“I’m with Draco on this,” Aemilius added.
“Though I do feel that as soon as we are ready, we strike quickly.”

Silius nodded affirmatively.
“I agree,” he said after giving the matter some thought. “The plain is only about three miles from here.  I don’t see Sacrovir getting there until late in the day, maybe not until nightfall.  We will scope out the terrain and see how we can work it to our advantage.  I want the men to focus on building a solid defensive palisade.  Should things take a turn for the worse, we need to be able to fall back to a strong defensive position.”

“We’ll make it happen, though I assure you we will not need it
,” Calvinus asserted.

Once he was satisfied that they had a thorough assessment of the enemy’s strength, Agricola had his small force move rapidly back through the woods, along the road. Anytime they could find some high ground, he would order a halt and look back to keep an eye on Sacrovir’s movements. It would be close to nightfall by the time they made their way back to the main army. At no time was Sacrovir’s army more than a mile or so behind them.

“Think they’ll try and catch us
, sir?” one of his men asked, as they caught their breath from atop a small knoll.

“I don’t think so,” Agricola replied, shaking his head.
“They have but a handful of horses, and those are bearing their leaders. I doubt that any of them would have the stomach to fight us themselves.” The legionaries smirked at the assessment of their enemy. “Come on, the open plain is not far from here. Once there, we will make a break for it and head back to camp. If Silius is following my advice, the legion will be encamped just beyond the plain.”

Running for miles in armor took its toll on the
centurion and his men. Agricola smiled weakly as he saw the newly erected camp come into sight; thankful that Silius had, indeed, heeded his recommendation. It would have been a much further trek back to friendly lines otherwise. He was hungry and thoroughly exhausted as they moved at a slow jog through the gate.

“You men are exempt from sentry duty tonight,” he told his companions, all of whom stood panting with their hands on their knees.
“Go find your section mates and get some supper in you.” With that he slapped each one on the shoulder, told them how well each had done, and sent them off.

Silius came walking up to him, a goblet of wine in his hand.
“Here, it looks like you could use this,” he said with a grin. “Actually, if I could get some water first, my mouth is about dried out,” the centurion replied.

Calvinus walked over and threw his water bladder at him, which Agricola proceeded to drain in one long pull.
After a few deep breaths, he accepted Silius’ offer of wine.

“The enemy is already arrayed in battle formation,” he said as all three men walked over to the Legate’s tent.
“They’ve got quite the unique formation they plan on using. I have to give them credit, it is a rather creative way of trying to disperse our ranks.”

Vipsania was dead.
Tiberius rested his hand against a pillar and lowered his head. From his balcony he could just make out the smoke of her funeral pyre. He had elected not to attend, feeling the entire spectacle was an insulting charade. That bastard of a husband of hers would be giving the eulogy; the professional mourners would wail and chant and shed tears as if they indeed bemoaned the loss of Vipsania Agrippina. Tiberius bit the inside of his cheek at the thought of such hypocrisy. He had already said his goodbyes to his beloved, and besides he did not need to provide more fodder fuel for the gossips slanderers. He could not win, of course, for the very people who would cry “shame” at his being present at the funeral of a woman who was no longer his wife, would be the same who would now call him two-faced and hypocritical for having professed his love of Vipsania in life. And yet he failed to even say farewell to her in death. It was these types of people who had used his not having attended the funeral procession for Germanicus as a means of implicating him in his death. Would they now be so crass as to suggest that he had murdered his beloved Vipsania as well? As he stood, tormented by the foul combination of anger and grief, his son Drusus walked out onto the balcony. His head was hung low down, and he held a medallion by the chain in his hand. It was the same one that Vipsania had given Tiberius so many years before.

“The answer is yes,” Tiberius spoke without
taking his eyes off the slight wisps of smoke. “You may take that medallion your mother gave me and use its image to issue a series of currency in her memory.”