Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (37 page)

“Am I then to be forced out of the legions, sir?” Artorius could feel his pulse racing as he feared the worst.

Vitellius grimaced slightly. “If you want to look at it this way. Even without being criminally charged, you could have been forced into retirement simply because the cohort has been disbanded, and there are no vacancies for one of your rank. And despite your record of service, there are those within the senate who have called for your immediate dismissal from the ranks. Fortunately for you, even though Pontius Pilate has fallen out of favor you still have friends. You know the name Platorius Macro?”

Artorius’ face lit up at the sound of a name he had not heard in years.
“I do indeed, sir! He and I go back many years, to the beginning of my career.”

“Well
, it seems he came through for you, at least as much as he was able,” Vitellius explained. “He serves as an administrative tribune with the plebian assembly and was also appointed as mayor of Ostia. Being a retired centurion primus pilus, his influence is substantial. Though he could not convince the senate to allow you to remain in the ranks, he did the best he could in finding you a way to still render service to Rome. You have other friends as well, albeit both equites; Gaius Calvinus and Aulus Cursor. Both spoke vehemently on your behalf.”

He then passed a scroll to the
centurion. As Artorius read it, he realized why it had taken so long for any disposition to be made. Between the time the Samaritan delegation arrived in Rome, tedious deliberations and correspondence between the emperor and senate, Macro’s own intervention, the final decisions made, and official notification making its way clear across the empire, it was no surprise that the ordeal had drug out for several months. Though he should have been grateful for the intervention of his friends, Artorius’ heart sank as he read the assignment order.

“
What the hell?” Magnus grunted as he read the document Artorius gave him.

Praxus snatched the scroll from him and began to read.
“I didn’t know Ostia had a police commissioner,” he remarked after a minute.

“It doesn’t,” Artorius replied bitterly. “At least it didn’t before Macro convinced the Quaestor to fund the position.”

“How did this happen?” Praxus said. “We get to return home to the Twentieth and you get sent off to some made up magistracy that completely takes you away from the legions! Oh
, well, at least it holds the same rank as a centurion primus ordo.”

“Read it again,” Artorius replied. “It
pays
the same. And while I’ve been given an honorary appointment as a centurion primus ordo, the position does not carry the actual rank. I’ve essentially been cast out of the legions. The only reason I have not been cashiered completely is because there was no court martial. Looks like my enemies get at least a touch of revenge on me after all.”

“Wait a minute,” Magnus remarked. “You’re not talking about the friends of Fulvius?”

Fulvius had had friends within the senate who had sworn to bring Artorius to ruin.

“That would be them,” Artorius concurred. “Seems he had more friends than just the fallen Senator Gallus.
And while plebian tribunes may hold the power of veto, there was only so much they could do.”

“But that happened twelve years ago!” Praxus protested.

“They were rather patient,” Artorius remarked. “I never gave them an opportunity to strike at me. I still haven’t; at least not to a degree that they would have hoped I would. Still, they saw the opportunity when Pilate fell from favor. Those in the senate not after my head have no idea who I am, except maybe Apronius and Silius. I don’t know if those two are even voting members of the assembly, and even if they are, their input would have counted for little. Macro, Calvinus, and Cursor did what he could, and for that I am grateful.”

“And to think he swore he would never get involved in politics!” Praxus said with a mirthless laugh.

“Well, at least you do get to return home,” Magnus observed. “Still
, though, twenty-two years served honorably in the ranks and this is how it ends!”

Diana’s feelings were mixed at best. She was glad to be leaving Judea and anxious to get back to Roman culture and society. By the same token, this was not how she envisioned things coming to an end for her husband. It upset her greatly that Artorius had given so much of himself for so long, and now he was being relegated to an administrative position in disgrace.
Disgrace
. The word struck Diana hard, for she knew that Artorius had had to make a split-second decision and had done what he felt was right. Her thoughts were interrupted as Metellus opened the door to the room where servants were packing Diana’s personal belongings.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I
, Mother?” he asked as he cautiously stepped in.

Diana smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“You know you’re not required to address me that way.”

“Yes, you tell me that all the time,” the young
decanus said with a smile of his own. “And I always remind you that I find it appropriate to do so.” He paused and noted the sad demeanor in his adoptive mother’s face.

“He did the right thing,” Metellus asserted. “I don’t give a damn what Vitellius or anyone else says. The fact that in six years, gods know how many skirmishes, and
a final pitched battle, the cohort never suffered a single fatality. That has to count for something!”

“I know,” Diana replied, shaking her head and stepping towards the doorway that led to the small balcony. She gazed out towards the sea, where ships came and went from the Caesarea harbor. “I wasn’t there, but I cannot believe he would order his men to attack if he did not sense an immediate danger.”

“Had he not done so, the Samaritans might have seized the initiative,” Metellus concurred. “The loyalties of the auxiliaries have always been sketchy, and had the enemy been given a chance to attack on their terms, I do not know that they would have held. I think they attacked because we took advantage of the Samaritans’ shock at the loss of their ‘prophet’. What enrages me is that Artorius and Pilate shoulder the blame for the incident, yet no one has placed blame upon those Samaritan bastards who massed on their supposed holy mountain armed for battle!”

“Any word on what will happen to all of you?” Diana asked, changing the subject. She continued to stare into the sea.

Metellus shrugged. “We’re all being sent back to our former legions,” he replied. “As a decanus it shouldn’t be too terribly difficult for me to find a vacancy. For the centurions it is going to be tricky. The First Italic Cohort was its own entity, and with its disbandment there will be an excess number of centurions. I’m guessing that final dispositions won’t be made until we at least return to Rome. Vitellius has already decreed that none of us will lose any rank, so they’ll have to work something out.”

“The seas are treacherous this time of year,” Diana observed. “I suspect we will be traveling by land. Perhaps we can take a holiday in Greece, like Pilate and Claudia had intended.”

“Not a bad idea,” Metellus concurred. “From what I heard, we’re not expected back until spring at the earlies
t, so travelling at a methodical pace will give the powers in Rome a chance to sort out the rosters of the legions and find us all assignments.”

The door opened again and Artorius entered without paying any mind to the servants who were still working at a feverish pace. He carried a pair of scrolls, one of which bore the
imperial seal.

“Ah
, good, you’re both here,” he stated. “Word hasn’t gotten out yet, but it will soon enough.”

“Word about what?” Metellus asked, his arms folded across his chest.

“It’s not about Pilate and Claudia, is it?” Diana asked, her face creased in concern for her sister and brother-in-law.

“This first letter comes from them,” Artorius answered, presenting the scroll without the
imperial seal. “His meeting with the emperor went as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.”

“So Tiberius pardoned him?” Metellus asked.

“It wasn’t Tiberius.”

Chapter XXX
III: Death is Just the Beginning

Villa Jovis, Isle of Capri

16 March
, 37 A.D.

***

“The
emperor has risen!” the slave said with eyes wide in disbelief. “He’s asking for his supper, and he wants his ring back.”

Caligula’s face twisted in anger and embarrassment. A number of senators had gathered at the Imperial
Villa on Capri when they heard that Tiberius was close to breathing his last. Many were anxious for the man they had so long hated to finally pass into the afterlife. In Gaius Caligula, the last surviving son of the great Germanicus Caesar, they saw hope for a new golden age. Indeed, they were about to hail the young man, who carried Tiberius’ ring, as their new emperor. Now that word had come that the old emperor was, in fact, still alive, they were instantly filled with fear. What would Tiberius do to them should he hear they were celebrating his demise? Caligula signaled with his head for the Praetorian Prefect, Naevius Suetorius Macro, to follow him.

“I need you to take care of this, now!” Caligula growled under his breath.

“It will be done…
Caesar
,” Naevius replied with a wicked grin.

Caligula returned the look and nodded. The burly
praetorian popped the knuckles of his hands and briskly walked towards the wing where Tiberius lay, apparently not dead.

Tiberius was
, indeed, still very much alive, even if he had fallen into a temporary stupor that had fooled his great-nephew and his minions into thinking he had expired. He laughed at how absurd they must now feel! He had sent a servant to fetch his ring back, as he did not want that disgusting little man to defile it. It mattered not to Tiberius that Gaius Caligula was the son of Germanicus. He lamented that he had been slow in realizing just how wicked Caligula was, but he would make things right. He wasn’t sure who would be his successor, but if he had his way, he’d remove that debauched little man from his will.

The
door opened, and Naevius bolted into the room. The look in his eyes immediately betrayed his intentions. It was then that Tiberius realized there would be no making things right. He could only hope that Caligula would not last long on the imperial throne, and perhaps posterity could forgive him for placing him in such a dangerous position. It would prove a vain hope.

“Come to do your master’s bidding,” the
emperor observed. His face was twisted in a defiant sneer.

Naevius
was big and strong, but Tiberius would not go quietly into the next life. The praetorian strode forward and started to draw his gladius. With surprising speed, Tiberius lunged forward and slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t be stupid, man!” he snapped as
Naevius took a step back, surprised. “If you cut me, it will be clear I was murdered! At least try and be subtle about it! Here, use this…” He quickly moved to the bed and grabbed a large pillow, which he threw at the prefect. This caught Naevius off guard, and as he reached up to catch it, Tiberius stepped in and kicked him hard in the groin. Naevius fell to his knees, and the emperor punched him hard twice across the temple. Though he felt a surge of his old strength returning, Tiberius knew it could not last. The praetorian was much larger than him, wearing armor, and if need be, he would use his weapon.

“Come on,” Tiberius goaded, taking a step back. “Damn yourself for eternity and betray your
emperor!”

Naev
ius gave a growl of anger at the humiliation this old man was putting him through. He gave a shout and tackled Tiberius, slamming him onto the bed with a crash. The emperor grabbed his neck in both hands as Naevius tried to strangle him in turn. Tiberius was still surprisingly resilient, but Naevius knew he would outlast him, even as his face turned purple from exertion and the emperor’s attempts to choke him. Tiberius then released the grip of his right hand and punched Naevius repeatedly in the face. The praetorian kept squeezing even as his left eye closed shut from the repeated blows. As Tiberius ceased in his strikes, Naevius released his grip.

“Alright,” the
emperor said with a resigned nod. “Finish this.” His body went limp as Naevius grabbed a pillow and smashed it over Tiberius’ face. In a final insult, Tiberius’ soul left his body before Naevius could get any satisfaction out of killing him.

The sky was grey, and Tiberius found himself kneeling on a patch of earth. He gasped in shock and stumbled to his feet.
The room, the villa, the entire island of Capri was gone. He was instead on a dirt path. Behind him was a range of hills with the road going between them. Where the road met the hills was black.

He felt very much awake, not at all like he was dreaming or in a trance.
He then looked down at his hands and forearms and saw that the wrinkles of old age were gone. His arms were thick and strong once more. He reached up and felt his face. Not only were the marks of age gone, but even the scars of acne that had tormented his younger years were absent.

He then took
further note of his surroundings. There were trees and tall grasses on either side of the path he was on. The grey skies made it feel like just before dawn on a cloudy day. He gazed down the path and in the distance, where the skies broke and light shone down, he saw the silhouette of a woman. Behind her was a tall stone wall, with a large gate that was cracked partway. From inside a bright light illuminated forth. He walked towards it, trying to make out who the woman was that stood just outside the light. At last he was able to see her face, and his heart soared.

She waited for me
,
he thought to himself. Vipsania’s smile was as radiant and beautiful as he had remembered when they were young. As she took his hand and led him through the gates of Elysium, Tiberius Claudius Nero at last found peace.