Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (15 page)

“Still, you’ve done well for yourself,” Magnus observed, “
Being a sailing master now and all.”

“I had to work my wa
y up to that,” Hansi replied, “Just like you did in the legions. Spending all my days behind an oar with some oaf breaking wind at every fifth pull became too much after a while. I was also the only oarsman below deck who could read, and once the sailing master of my first ship found out, he immediately pulled me from the oars and had me acting as the captain’s scribe. From there I was able to learn new tasks and eventually found myself where I’m at today.”

“Commander Stoppello seems to rely on you quite a bit,” Magnus observed.

“It’s the way of things. He was the sailing master who got me away from the oars in the first place. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all the while he was grooming me to replace him. When he received command of his own ship, I was transferred with him and promoted. I’d like to get my own ship, but we’ll just have to see. I’ve already got twenty years with Roman Navy, and I’d like to settle down at some point.”

“I can understand that,” Magnus noted. “Still, it hasn’t been all toil for you over the years. And surely you’ve made some lucrative hauls.”

“We are able to supplement our income with various charter missions that the crew always gets a cut of,” Hansi said. “And now that I’m sailing master, my take on a haul like we just did is substantially higher. Commander Stoppello is off negotiating with shipwrights to see who will pay the highest for our captured enemy vessel. Of course, the emperor will get his share right off the top, but there will still be plenty for us and the lads. Fortunately, the government doesn’t bother with enforcing taxation on the sale of prisoners. Ah, here we are then.”

They had reached a narrow, yet very tall and colorful tent that was crammed between a pair of food stalls.
Hansi pulled back the heavy tent flap and, despite the bright colors on the outside, as well as the glaring sun that continued to rise through the morning, it was completely dark, almost foreboding within.

“Ah, my northern friend!” a thickly accented voice said from within.

The walls of the tent were thick and covered in various animal skins, so as to make it almost as dark as night. Only a pair of oil lamps hanging from the supports gave any light at all. The two Norsemen gave their eyes a moment to adjust before entering in further. A number of small tables, animal cages, and various rugs were strewn about.
They heard what sounded like a loud grumbling, though they could not discern from where or what it came.

The man who greeted them sat on what looked like a raised chair made of nothing but large pillows. He was reclined; a narrow cylinder in his hand which was attached to a length of tubing that ran to a large bowl. He appeared to be inhaling through the pipe
, and when he exhaled through his nose, clouds of smoke wafted out.

He wore a large ornamental headdress with leather flaps that ran just past his cheeks and covered his ears. His robes appeared to be a deep red with gold embroidery. His eyes were narrow and slanted, with a face that was accented by a thin moustache that ran well past both corners of his mouth, and a thin beard that hung a few inches past his chin.

“You are right,” Magnus said. “He does not look like any Syrian I have ever seen.”

“And who is your friend?” the man asked Hansi, a cheerful smile never leaving his face.

“My brother. He is here to assist me in our business.”

“I see by your garb that you are a Roman soldier,” the man said. Then nodding towards Magnus, “And from your belt and how you wear your weapon, I would guess you are a
centurion or better.”

“I am a
centurion,” Magnus replied. “But you, sir, still have us at a distinct disadvantage. It is plain that you are from lands beyond the empire. So, who are you?”

“I spoke facetiously when I told your brother I was from Syria,” the man replied. “As to where I am from…well, that is not important. Suffice it to say I come from a land many leagues east of Parthia. As for who I am, my name is
Sukhbataar, it means ‘hero of the axe’ in my culture. And so, from one warrior to another, I bid you welcome.”

“As do I,” a woman’s voice spoke up, startling the two Norsemen.
In the darkness they did not see the cloaked woman, who threw back her hood, revealing a beautiful and exotic face.

“Now she is clearly Syrian,” Magnus said, regaining his composure.

Though her skin was on the fair side for her people, she had deep set brown eyes and hair.

“May I introduce Achillia, one of the finest gladiators in the world,” Sukhbataar said.

The woman’s eyes were hard, but she allowed a single corner of her mouth to turn up slightly in a smile as she folded her arms across her chest.
She simply nodded to the men.

“We do not see many women gladiators,” Hansi observed. “Most Romans view them as more novelty than serious combatant. A shame, really.”

“As you know,” Sukhbataar continued, “Syrians are renowned for their skill with the bow.”

“Yes, we know,” Magnus replied. “We have plenty of them within the army. Most of our bowmen come from Syria.”

“I assure you,” Achillia said, “I am faster and more lethal with a bow than any man within the Roman Army. It is only because I am a woman that I am not allowed to serve.”

“I do not detect any trace of a foreign accent,” Magnus said. “You also speak to us as an equal. I take it then that you are not Sukhbataar’s slave?”

The woman’s head tilted back as she burst into a fit of laughter. Magnus found her slightly unnerving, yet at the same time exotically beautiful.

“Not all who fight in the arena are slaves,” Sukhbataar stated. “Achillia and I are…business partners, if you will.”

“You are also correct in that I am not what you would call ‘foreign’,” Achillia continued. “I am a Roman citizen, like you. Yet a life of docile maternity does not suit my talents. I cannot join the army, so I must find other ways to hunt.” Her gaze was now sinister, though her smile remained.

“Well
, that’s why we’re here,” Hansi said while Achillia and Magnus continued to stare at each other. He then addressed Sukhbataar. “We have sixty prisoners we captured when we took a pirate ship. They are in pretty sad shape and of no use as gladiators. However, I think they’d be better used for Achillia’s
sport
, rather than the boring process of tying them to stakes to be strangled or nailed to crosses.”

“Hmm.” Sukhbataar had his eyes closed in thought.

Magnus and Hansi thought they heard the loud grumbling again.

“What is that noise?” Magnus asked.

With a mischievous grin, Achillia pulled back a large blanket that revealed a gigantic sleeping tiger.

“What the fuck is that?”
Hansi snapped, jumping to his feet.

Magnus was at his side, gladius drawn as the great beast opened its eyes and yawned lazily.
Sukhbataar was chuckling softly as Achillia laughed aloud once more and then began caressing the huge animal behind its ears.

“This is Sargon,” she said. “He means you no harm. I have raised him from the time he was born, and together we hunt.”

Magnus sheathed his weapon as he and Hansi sat once more. The great cat closed its eyes, and they realized what had sounded like loud grumblings was, in fact, Sargon’s purring.

“So shall we say ten denarii apiece?” Magnus offered.

“Three,” Sukhbataar immediately countered.

“Oh
, come off it!” Hansi snapped. “You came highly recommended, and you would take us for fools.”

“As you say, they are a pitiful lot,” the entertainer said calmly. “But how about this; I’ll make it five while having you and your friends as my personal guests at our show in the
Jerusalem arena in two weeks’ time.”

“Seven,” Magnus retorted.

“Six,” Sukhbataar said slowly.

The two brothers looked at each other for a moment and both nodded.

“Done,” Hansi replied, extending his hand.

“We will be by later this afternoon to collect the prisoners,” Sukhbataar said.

As Magnus and Hansi left the tent they were almost blinded by the bright sun which contrasted sharply with the deep dark from inside.

“What an odd fellow,” Magnus said
, as they regained their bearings and started the long walk back towards the barracks.

“You meet all sorts on this end of the
empire,” Hansi replied. “There are many lands and peoples that extend far beyond even the borders of Parthia. Though few will venture any further west than Syria or Asia Minor, many flock to places like Caesarea. I have to go inform Commander Stoppello about the deal we’ve struck, so I will take my leave, brother.”

Artorius had woken to his first morning in Judea as the predawn cast its faint glow on the city. He had left his wife sleeping as he rose, shaved, and taken Pilate’s offer of using his personal baths for an invigorating plunge.

Though Pilate had business to attend to that morning and could not join him for breakfast, he made certain that his brother-in-law was taken care of. The centurion sat at the long table alone as servants brought him cooked eggs, fresh fruit, sharp cheese, and strips of meat from a mysterious animal he could not quite place, though he found it rather palatable. As he washed down the first few bites with a cupful of watered down wine, the large doors were opened and a servant announced,
“Commander Tiberius Stoppello of the Imperial Navy!”

“Ah! Good of you to join me,” Artorius said as the ship’s captain entered.
He too had bathed, shaved, and was now sporting a civilian toga. “If you haven’t eaten yet, I will have the servants make some more. I have no idea what half this stuff is that I’m eating, but it is far better than what we’ve had over the past few weeks.”

“I have the receipt of sale for the ship
and the prisoners,” Stoppello said, holding up a scroll that bore the seal of the imperial department of commerce and trade. He laid it out to Artorius, who continued to eat while standing next to him and reading. “Pirates make horrible slaves, and as most are disease-ridden, we took the first offer that came from an entertainer who claims to be from Syria. Our friends, Hansi and Magnus, struck the deal with him, and I’m sure you will find it satisfactory. The ship fetched a handsome price. As you can see, the emperor gets thirty percent right off the top. As for the rest, I’ve divvied up the largest shares equally between you and I, with the next highest going to my sailing master, Hansi, and your centurion, Magnus.”

“That’s fair enough,” Artorius replied, looking at the figures. “I see you’ve got equal shares of the remainder going to your sailors and my legionaries.”

“At two hundred and fifty denarii apiece, I scarcely think any of them will complain,” Stoppello replied. “That’s more than a year’s wages for your men, and even more so for mine.”

Artorius thought back to when he had made a legionary’s
pay. It seemed like a lifetime ago. His own share of the sale of the pirate vessel amounted to nearly five thousand denarii; a sum that amounted to more than twenty-two years worth of wages for a soldier in the ranks.

“Most of my
men will blow through their share on drink, entertainment, and prostitutes,” he thought aloud.

“As will mine,” Stoppello added.

Artorius then decided that during the first meeting he would have with the centurions and officers of the cohort, one thing to be covered was the mandatory savings program within the army. Each pay cycle, every soldier had a percentage of his wages taken out and set aside for his retirement. Roman legionaries were notoriously frivolous with money, and this ensured they would at least have something when their term of service came to an end. This program was overseen by the individual legions, and since the cohort acted as an independent entity, Artorius decided to take it upon himself to instigate the program with his men. He made some notes for the signifiers, ordering them to take the mandatory savings out of each soldier’s share of the ship’s sale.

“How goes the repairs to your ship?” Artorius asked while servants brought breakfast and drink to the captain.