Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (18 page)

“My wife…my beautiful wife. She was
innocent!”
Praxus slapped the man across the face, causing Artorius to wince.

“Damn it man, you have to tell us;
who
did this?”

“That
bastard, Heracles,” he said at last. “He blames
me
for Sacrovir’s downfall. Said that if I did not return to him in loyalty he would see to it I paid for it.”

“That’s the same man the slave we tortured told us about,” Artorius observed.

“Seems he’s getting around,” Praxus replied. They were interrupted by a pair of legionaries from Praxus’ section who burst into the room.

“You’re going to want to see this,” one of the men stated, his face pale.

“You found my sons,” the man said, his eyes on the floor. “My sons and my wife…they have paid for my sins.”

“Listen, we will help you bury your family,” Praxus offered. “But then you will come with us to Lugdunum and tell us everything you know. These men must be brought to justice!”

“Justice?” the man replied, looking at the Decanus for the first time. “No, it is
I
who has been brought to justice. My name is Broehain; I was a lieutenant of Sacrovir’s, until I betrayed him. I should have died with him, but instead I have brought death to my family.”

“Have the men gather up all the bodies and lay them out for burial,” Artorius ordered the legionaries. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Right away.”

Broehain sat by idly as the Romans dug a series of graves for his wife and children with tools they had found next to the house. He had ceased crying, but now would show no emotions at all. He continued to stare at the ground and rock slowly back and forth on a stump.

“I think we’re done,” Decimus remarked as both sections gathered around their Decanii. Artorius and Praxus had tried to lay out the dead with as much reverence as was possible, given the severe mutilation of the bodies. Both men were covered in gore and shaken by the task.

“Doesn’t he have anything to say?” Felix asked. Broehain only continued to rock back and forth while staring at the ground.

“Just get it over with,” Artorius answered. As carefully as they were able they lowered Broehain’s slain family into their graves. Immediately they started filling in the holes, anxious as they were to not have to observe the macabre sight any more. It was then that the Gaul rose to his feet and purposefully walked towards his house. Artorius was quick to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he asked. Broehain forcibly shoved his hand away.

“Some things for my journey,” he stated as he continued into the house. Artorius did not follow him, but instead continued to help his men finish their hateful task. Several minutes passed and still Broehain had not appeared.

“Hey, see what he’s doing in there,” Artorius directed Decimus and Carbo. “I want to get out of this place as soon as possible…before any more citizens turn up mutilated!” Gavius and Magnus he had sent back to Lugdunum to report the situation to Centurion Macro. He hoped Macro would arrive soon. In order to expedite their message, he had ordered his men to ground their armor and equipment so that they could run back to Lugdunum. At a steady jog it should not have taken his men more than an hour and he knew that Macro would arrive on horseback.

“He’s not in there, and the back door was left open,” Decimus said as they rushed out of the house.

“Oh shit!” one of Praxus’ legionaries shouted, pointing towards a copse of trees down the slope of the hill. He immediately started to run towards them, shouting,
“Hey! Stop!”

“Oh no,” Artorius said under his breath as the rest of them ran after the legionary. As they came around the side of the house they saw what had caught the man’s attention. Broehain sat on the branch of a tree, tying a rope to it. The other end was already looped around his neck.
He looked up to see the legionaries fast approaching and hurried making sure the end was secure to the branch.

“Don’t do it! Let us help you!”
Artorius shouted. Broehain shook his head and leapt from the tree, the soldiers all halting in their tracks as they heard his neck snap.

“Son of a bitch!” Artorius swore. “I should never have let him go off by himself! Damn it I should have known better.”

“I’ll cut him down,” Decimus said to no one in particular as he walked over to the tree.

“I guess we’ll go dig another hole,” one of the legionaries said with dark humor.

“Fuck!”
Artorius swore again as he walked back up the slope, Praxus by his side. “Our one chance at getting some viable information about these bastards and I blow it!” His words came as they reached the top of the hill and were overheard by Centurions Proculus, Macro, and Vitruvius, who had just arrived on horseback. A contingent of a dozen horsemen accompanied them. He hung his head, ashamed, as the Centurions dismounted.

“You didn’t blow anything,” Macro said. “I doubt that sod could have told us anything we didn’t already know.”

“All the same, looks like we’ll never know,” Artorius replied.

“It was bound to happen,” Vitruvius continued. “A man loses all he’s ever cared about in this world in such a savage manner; what does one expect?”

“Still it troubles me what these bastards have done,” Proculus added. “We’re ten miles from the city. How many more will they go? And is this just a local band of thugs, or is there something larger and darker at work here?”

“There is definitely something dark at work here,” Artorius answered as the rest of the legionaries came around the corner, Broehain’s corpse in tow.

“Explain,” Proculus persisted.

“The owner of this home was a ransomed leader in Sacrovir’s rebellion,” Praxus said. “We also know that it was the same man who was responsible for the ambush by the slave pens.”

“Sir,” Artorius remarked. “This is not just a band of thugs we are dealing with. I daresay we are facing the heart of evil.”

Chapter
XI: Indus’ Return

Life had been good to Julius Indus since the Sacrovir Revolt. He had accumulated much in wealth during the raping of the rebellious nobles, to say nothing of the fact that he had his own cavalry regiment named in his honor by the Emperor himself. The Treveri cavalry regiment, now known as Indus Horse, had distinguished itself by its loyalty and valor during the rebellion. They had suffered many casualties helping a legionary cohort destroy the rebellious Turani tribe and had fought valiantly at the Battle of Augustodunum; routing the flanks of Sacrovir’s army. Indus was indeed proud of his regiment and was humbled to have such brave men under the banner that bore his name. As he stood against the side of his headquarters building, one of his troopers rode up on his horse and briskly dismounted.

“Sir, message from Centurion Proculus,” the man said, handing him a small scroll. Indus frowned in contemplation. While still reading he walked over to the quarters of his deputy.

“Have the regiment ready to move in two days,” he directed. “I am heading for Lugdunum immediately; meet me there.” He then turned to the Tribune who accompanied him. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m ready to ride now,” the man, whose name was Cursor, replied. Aulus Nautius Cursor was a thirty-year old Tribune who had grown bored with politics and had elected to devote his life to military study.
His face bore a very pronounced nose and rather than fight his receding hairline he had elected to shave his head bald. While most men prided themselves on full, healthy heads of hair, Cursor had grown to relish his baldness as so many women found it irresistible. He had been given the cognomen
Cursor
for his ability to run great distances, and it was his obsession with speed and maneuver that led him to request a transfer to the cavalry. He had effectively led an auxiliary infantry regiment during the rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus, though his superiors quickly assessed his talents more suited for mounted warfare.

Legate Silius therefore sent him to Gaul under the tutelage of the legendary cavalry commander, Julius Indus. It was Silius’ intent to place Cursor in charge of all cavalry assets for the Rhine Army upon his return, much in the same manner as the Tribune Pontius Pilate had been given authority o
f the army’s artillery because of his talents in that arena. Cursor was an eager student, having seen first-hand the devastating effectiveness of Indus’ regiment, which had been renamed
Indus Horse
in his honor by the Emperor himself.

“It is as I feared,” Indus said as the two men rode towards Lugdunum.

“What do you mean?” Cursor asked.

“Sacrovir’s rebellion has found an heir,” Indus replied. Cursor swallowed hard. He knew that Indus had initially been
one of Sacrovir’s most trusted lieutenants before turning on him and bringing his regiment to fight for Rome. That time spent in Sacrovir’s camp had given Indus insight into the rebel army that no one else possessed.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I can hazard a guess.” Indus cursed himself that he had not elected to excavate the burned and crumbled remains of Sacrovir’s estate. Though most of the bodies would have been charred beyond recognition, some effort should have been made to identify all of the leaders to make certain they had perished. Proculus’ note had not gone into detail, but it did mention a slave under torture giving away the name of his Greek master.

Of all of Sacrovir’s
confidants, that psychotic Greek, Heracles had disturbed Indus the most. The only other man as wicked in soul was the Sequani chief, Taranis who mercifully had been slain during the Battle of Augustodunum. Whatever drove Heracles it wasn’t love of liberty. Darkness consumed him and Indus had seen it in his eyes. He had hated being left alone with the man, although Heracles had always been polite and cordial with him. He could not imagine the turn of events had Heracles known of Indus’ intentions to betray Sacrovir and Florus. If Heracles was still alive and out for revenge, Indus knew he would be among those that the Greek would try to focus his wrath.

“Ah, Indus my old friend,” Heracles said quietly in contemplation as he twirled the dagger point on the table. Radek stood across the table from him, hands folded. He looked up when his master mentioned that name.

“You know him, don’t you?” Heracles asked, a wicked sneer forming.

“It was his cavalry that trampled us into the dirt,” Radek replied, his voice
venomous with hate. “Their lances rendered me the half-cripple that I am now and sent me to those cursed mines.” Heracles jammed the dagger point into the table at Radek’s last remark.

“Then it is time Indus paid the debt he owes to us. There is a large slaver camp about four days’ march from here. We have enough men to overrun the guards. The slaves will then be freed on condition they fight for us.”

“A plan similar to the one we executed in the city,” Radek observed.

“Quite,” his master acknowledged. “Some may view our previous sortie as a failure, given those pathetic whelps’ inability to kill a single legionary. However, the civil unrest brought about made the venture a success. Citizens of Lugdunum now cringe at the thought of large slave markets within their city’s walls unless they are constantly patrolled by either the urban cohort or legionaries. The Romans have not the men to spare for such menial duties, as they are tasked to the last man in a vain effort to hunt us down.
The city magistrate himself has placed a moratorium on slave markets within the city’s walls.

“Indus’ Horse has been alerted and will soon be helping the Roman force in their search. By raiding the slave
r camp they will have to send their cavalry to suppress the situation. They have not the legionaries to spare; and even if they did it would take too long for them to reach the camp.” Radek grinned in anticipation of the rest of Heracles’ plan. Of all the Romans he had fought against, he loathed the men of Indus’ Horse the most. He could still feel the pain of the lance that hobbled his leg and rendered his back open. He thought about his companions who he had watched torn to pieces by the ferocity of Indus’ onslaught. His only real friend, Ellard, had his guts ripped from his body by a Roman lance; he had died a slow and horrifyingly painful death.

“When do we leave, master?”

“Tonight; we will rally at the old mill and leave by boat. The Romans have patrols on the streets at night, but they have sorely neglected to watch the river.”

There was an abandoned mill down by the river. Heracles had placed a pair of men there to determine whether or not it could prove useful. They had repaired the old boats that were moored on the backside of the mill and they were now ready for use. Heracles had sent his minions to the mill a few at a time throughout the day. Daytime provided an excellent cover, what with all the activity within the city. Only he and Radek arrived after dark. There were a few buildings down by the mill, but for the most part it was away from the heart of the city and oddly enough an area that the Romans had neglected to patrol. The door was opened for the two men; they walked inside and removed their hoods.

Heracles took a moment to assess the mill and its usefulness. It was an enormous building; large enough house a couple hundred men if need be. Though it was very old, it appeared to be sturdy enough. His men had been busy cleaning away the cobwebs, dust, and rodent shit. He then smiled inwardly. When the time came he knew where he would reestablish himself.

“Is everything ready?” he asked.

“Yes Master,” replied the man who had opened the door. His voice was raspy, and indeed he was the same man who had goaded the slaves into fighting the legionaries in the city. Heracles raised his hand and pointed towards the back doorway, beyond which the boats were moored.
No more words needed to be spoken; each man knew what needed to be done.

Daylight had broken an hour before Indus and Cursor arrived at the Cohort’s Principia. Centurion Proculus stood outside awaiting their arrival.

“Indus my old friend!” Proculus said with great enthusiasm as he clasped the hand of the cavalry commander. A native of Gaul, Indus was a few inches taller than the Centurion; his light brown hair cut short and his face clean-shaven like his Roman counterparts. Behind him walked a man wearing a muscled cuirass breastplate and a Tribune’s helmet under his left arm.

“You remember Tribune Cursor?” Indus asked, pointing to the young man. Proculus nodded and saluted.

“Sir,” he said as Cursor returned the salute, “good to see you again. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, since Augustodunum in fact,” the Tribune replied. “I was but an auxiliary regimental commander then.”
Cursor was a young, though highly experienced officer.

“And now Silius wants to place him in charge of the Rhine army’s entire cavalry force,” Indus added. “Hence why he is now working with me.
It seems someone spread a nasty rumor that I know a thing or two about cavalry tactics.”

“You know more than just a thing or two,” Cursor emphasized. “I dare say there isn’t a more sound cavalry officer in the whole of the empire!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me you know,” Indus said with a wink. Proculus gave a short laugh.

“Well I dare say I will have some work for your men yet,” he said as the three men walked over towards the Principia.

It was an odd situation for Cursor. In terms of rank and position he was the senior of the three men; however he knew his role with Indus was strictly as an observer while he tried to learn as much as he could. Regardless of rank, Lugdunum and the surrounding region militarily fell under the jurisdiction of Proculus and his legionaries. The Centurion and Indus had developed a close bond during the rebellion, particularly during a rather harrowing battle in the mountain passes west of Augusta Raurica. Their combined forces had numbered less than fifteen-hundred men, and yet they had completely routed an enemy force that had the advantage of terrain, as well as a three-to-one numerical advantage.

Cursor found he was a bit envious of the men’s relationship. The position of Tribune in charge of an auxiliary regiment was indeed a lonely one. Most Tribunes held their posts for a single campaign season, and yet he kept returning to the ranks. He had held numerous administrative posts and found they bored him immensely. His only peer that he had any kind of a bond with was Pontius
Pilate, but even he was gone; his friendship with Sejanus garnering him the position of Deputy Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. Cursor had been effective enough in leading his regiment into battle, and yet even there his social status had prevented him from forming bonds with any of his men, even the Centurions. That and he had never felt at home in an infantry unit.

“So what have you got?” Indus asked as he and Cursor sat down across from Proculus at a table in the room the
Pilus Prior used for conducting briefings with his Centurions and Options.

“As you know, there
has been a serious of murders taking place in and around the city,” Proculus explained. “We think they are linked to survivors of Sacrovir’s rebellion. I’ve got the urban cohort searching the city and my legionaries scouring the countryside; however with the size of the city and the sheer number of farms and estates in the region I just don’t have the manpower. What I especially need is a mobile force. These bastards have been hitting settlements ten miles or better from the city; too far for my legionaries to react in time. How many men are you bringing with you?”