Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (13 page)

“Just how far north does that road go?” Carbo asked
picking pine needles out of his helmet.

“All the way to the sea,” Magnus answered. “It serves as the border between the Batavi lands and the Roman Empire.”

“Okay, I’ve got a question about that,” Gavius interrupted. “Most of us refer to Rome as being an empire, and yet I remember back in Rome hearing a lot of the older folks still referring to it as the Republic. So which is it?”

“Does it really matter?” Artorius asked, stepping over a fallen log. “Rome abolished kings more than five hundred years ago
, and the very thought of a monarch does not sit well with the average Roman. That was what led to Julius Caesar’s downfall; his enemies feared that he wished to crown himself king, and they murdered him for it. Octavian was more subtle about his rise to power.”

“I wouldn’t call it subtle,” Decimus conjectured. “
After all, he did end up fighting two civil wars in his rise to power.”

“True,” Artorius conceded.
“Though the first, at least, wasn’t necessarily about power; it was about revenge. Octavian needed to bring Caesar’s murderers to justice. As for the second war . . . well, Antony and Cleopatra brought that upon themselves.”

The rest of the section nodded in reply. Marc Antony had been a Roman soldier and statesman, so of course they were bound to feel a bit sympathetic towards him. Cleopatra
, on the other hand, was viewed as a heartless and diabolical woman who brought about the destruction of her nation in an attempt to satisfy her own selfish desires.

“While I appreciate the history lesson,” Gavius said, “that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Artorius ignored the remark and continued, “After Octavian’s final victory over Antony and Cleopatra, he was given the honorary title of
Princeps,
or
First Citizen
. He was quite clever, refusing to be awarded the title of dictator. He was allowed to wear the Civic Crown; for in the eyes of the Roman people, he had saved them all. None of his titles or honors gave him any actual power. It was through manipulating the Senate and the constitution of the Republic that he was given absolute power. Four years after Actium Octavian was given the name
Augustus.
The Senate believed they had their Republic back, while Octavian became Emperor Augustus Caesar.”

“Funny how even the most educated of men can be fooled by a façade that the plebeians could see through,” Magnus
said thoughtfully. “My grandfather served under Octavian during the wars against Antony and Cleopatra. To this day he laughs at the Senate’s arrogance and blindness. He could not, for the life of him, figure out how both Caesar and Antony were so smitten by Cleopatra. He tells me she had a big nose.”

“I didn’t know ‘Mad Olaf
’ was still alive,” Decimus said.

“Alive and as mad as ever,” Magnus
grinned as the century made its way onto a dirt road that cut through the forest. “His great hall looks like a Roman proconsul’s palace, and yet he still dresses and looks like a Viking. I got a letter from him the other day. He said that he’s thinking about coming to Rome this fall for the celebration of the fifty-first anniversary of the Battle of Actium; or as he calls it,
the day we gave that Alexandrian twat a damn good spanking!
” Talk of Magnus’ deranged grandfather elicited a chuckle from the section. “You know, he’s probably one of the only veterans of that battle still alive.”

“
Anyway
, I think the Senate was just tired after all those years of civil war,” Artorius continued, ignoring his friends’ sidebar conversation. “Plus, they were probably relieved that Octavian never sought to crown himself king and refused the dictatorship.”

“His being awarded the Civic Crown was a clever means of getting a crown though,” Gavius
observed.

As the
century made its way along the forest road, they saw an old man and two young children coming their way. The man was leading an oxcart laden with timber. The boy rode on top of the cart, and the young girl carried a basket full of berries that she picked while walking beside her grandfather. The old man’s eyes grew wide in terror as his gaze fell upon the signum that Camillus carried. He had seen those standards before, and with them, they brought death. The legionaries were not an overly impressive sight. Leather covers hid the bright colors of their shields, packs weighed them down like mules, and most had their helmets off and strapped to their packs. Still, the old man knew better, and the horrors of a thousand memories wracked his conscious. His grandchildren, on the other hand, had never seen Roman soldiers before and did not know what they were. The girl ran towards them, curiosity getting the best of her. She reached into her basket and offered a couple of blueberries to Decimus. The legionary smiled, set his shield down, and accepted the berries the girl placed in his hand. He promptly ate them and ruffled her hair before picking up his shield and continuing on his way. He saw Carbo staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

“My daughter is about the same age,” Decimus
said, smiling.

Carbo just nodded.

The old man called out to his granddaughter who ran happily back to him, laughing all the while. She did not notice the sheer terror in her grandfather’s eyes. He grabbed both of the children, hands trembling, and held them close as the century marched past. As the last of the legionaries moved past his wagon, he still held his grandchildren close.

Chapter V:
Batavia

***

The
century did not see any more barbarians after the encounter with the old man and the children. If there were Germans watching them, they did so from a safe distance deep within the forests. En route to the Batavian border they encountered the Ahenobarbi bridges.

As the bridges came into
view, Artorius caught sight of two other centuries approaching from different directions. One was the Fourth Century, under command of Centurion Dominus. Artorius smiled when he saw the standard of the other century. It was Centurion Vitruvius’ Third Century. It looked as if they had split off from Proculus, as well. All three cohorts were not due to link up for another day, so the centuries made camp for the night on the remains of the fort they had erected five years before. That evening, Artorius was taking a walk along the perimeter with Magnus and Decimus.

“Quite a bit different than the last time we were here,” Decimus observed.

“Yeah, we’re not surrounded by thousands of barbarians looking to eat our guts for breakfast!” Magnus added.

Artorius gazed out onto the plains wh
ere they had fought the battle.

“This place is a massive graveyard,” he said coldly. “Can you not feel it? Thousands died here. On these very ramparts
, they were cut down.”

Magnus thought back to that day, the day where they snatched victory and triumph from the very jaws of death and defeat.

“I remember watching those bastards fall in waves as our boys unleashed a torrent of javelins on them.” He then pointed to where the gate once stood.

“Pilate loosed his
scorpions on them as they tried to breach the gate. What a rush it was. Charging as we did, right out into the open!”

“They didn’t see it coming,” Decimus added. “They thought they had us beat, that we would lie here cowering, waiting for death to come. What fools they were!”

“I remember, we left the bodies to rot,” Artorius continued. “Decomposition came quickly in the summer heat. It was but two days before we continued our journey home, and the corpses of the enemy dead created a pestilent stench.”

“Ah, but a dead enemy always smells sweet!” Magnus conjectured, giving his friends a morbid laugh.

As they walked along the rampart, bantering with the sentries on duty, they came upon Centurion Vitruvius, who was talking with a couple of his soldiers by the camp’s gate.

“Good evening
, men,” he said, acknowledging the legionaries.

“Evening
, sir,” all three replied together.

“So what brings you over to our section of the line?” the
centurion asked.

“We were just reminiscing about our last campaign here,” Artorius answered, “and the thrashing we gave those barbarian bastards when they thought they had us cornered.”

Vitruvius gave a short, mirthless laugh at that. “Yes, that was quite a day, wasn’t it? I remember the hell and frustration leading up to that showdown, to include the loss of Optio Valgus.”

“At least Valgus managed to survive his wounds, as horrible as they were,” Magnus replied.

“He survived his wounds, yes, however his career and livelihood ended that day,” Vitruvius countered.

“Didn’t he get a decent pension from the army?” Decimus asked.

Vitruvius shrugged.

“He got whatever it is they give to an
optio. It was not sufficient to get him the small estate he had always wanted. However, with my sister’s dowry, it became enough.”

“Yes, I had forgo
tten they were sweethearts.” Artorius said, smiling.

“They were more than that,” Vitruvius added. “Had anything happened to Valgus, Vitruvia would have skinned me! Now
, if you men will excuse us, I need to talk with Sergeant Artorius alone.”

“Yes
, sir,” Magnus said as he and Decimus saluted and left.

As they left, Vitruvius and Artorius continued to walk along the line.

“I heard about your run in with that rather irate barbarian with the great sword,” Vitruvius began.

“I intended to give him the standard
‘Vitruvius style’
thrashing, like you taught me,” Artorius replied shrugging. “Crucifixion has its own satisfaction.”

“We had a few scuffles ourselves. Nothing like what happened to you guys, though.”

“I’m glad none of our men got hurt or killed,” Artorius replied, earnestly.

“You’ve got good men and sound leadership in the
second,” Vitruvius remarked. “How is Flaccus working out as Optio?” Artorius shrugged again.

“He does alright. I think he is a little out of his element, especially since he was Tesserarius for so many years and I do not think he ever saw the promotion coming.
Honestly, I think Macro did it at least in part to give Flaccus a better pension when he retires in a couple years.”

“Of course he did!” Vitruvius
said emphatically. “Flaccus is a good man, albeit a bit set in his ways and not very flexible. Still, he has the best interests of the men in mind, and he does what he thinks is right for them.”

“He is quite entertaining when dealing with the new recruits,” Artorius added. “I think their inexperience frustrates him at times, though he
is
quite affective at correcting their deficiencies! And what about your own Century? I hate to admit it, but even after five years in this Cohort, I rarely ever talk to anyone outside the second.”

“They’re a good lot,” the
centurion replied. “My optio, another big brute named Macer, is quite good. He and I made optio at about the same time. I think with some fine tuning, he will be ready to take his own century in a couple years.”

“What of the rumor that Flavius is retiring soon?” Artorius asked.

Word had gotten down to the ranks that the legion’s centurion primus pilus had petitioned the Senate to allow him to retire at last.

“He has been a soldier for nearly thirty-five years,” Vitruvius replied. “Though he has come close to being killed in battle many times, I think it fitting that he lives out his days in peace. The gods know he’s earned it.”

“Any idea as to who his successor will be?”

“Not even a little bit,” Vitruvius lied. In truth, he did know who he thought would take over as the
legion’s master centurion. “Ironically, the rank of primus pilus is the only one in the army where a candidate is elected by his peers. The only stipulation is he must have at least reached the rank of centurion pilus prior. That makes thirteen possible candidates, what with the nine regular cohort commanders, plus the four primi ordinones. The rest of us centurions do get to cast a vote, though we cannot stand for the position.”

For the next couple of hours, the former master and pupil walked and talked. Though professionally they no longer fell under the same chain-of-command, Vitruvius would always see himself as a mentor and guide for Artorius. The young
decanus would not have had it any other way.

After several days of using woodcutters’ trails, as well as moving cross
country through the masses of trees, the Romans finally entered the lowlands of the Batavi. Though still vastly populated by trees, Batavia was predominantly cattle country. Improved roads paralleled the eastern side of the Rhine with expanses of farm fields as far as the eye could see.

The people were markedly different in demeanor than the Germans. The Batavi were Roman allies and welcomed the presence of legionaries into their realm.
Farmers ceased in their labors to wave and call out greetings to the Romans. Artorius could not understand most of what they said, but figured it could not have been bad things since there were no accompanying rude gestures. Children were awed by the legionaries and soon there was a trail of them following the century.

A
village came into view as the Second Century continued its march. This was more of a town than a village, complete with a fifteen-foot wooden wall surrounding it. The gate was open, and there were a couple of guards standing on either side. These wore mail shirts with legionary-style helmets. Each held an oval, highly ornate shield, and leaned on a metal spear.

“Batavi auxiliaries, allies of Rome,” Macro stated, answering the unasked question he knew was on his
soldiers’ minds.

“I remember hearing of them in action, prior to Idistaviso,” Flaccus remarked. “They forded the Weser River and harried the Cherusci flank. This allowed us to cross the river practically unmolested.”

“For which they paid a heavy price,” Camillus recalled. “I remember when Centurion Aemilius escorted the survivors back to the fort. All were ravaged by hunger and extreme fatigue after their harrowing ordeal. At least a third of their number had fallen during the sortie, including their chief, Chariovalda.”

“You know Germanicus offered to release them to return to their homes after that,” Macro replied. “They adamantly refused. Commander Stertinius was so moved by their bravery he insisted on letting the Batavi fight alongside his cavalry at Idistaviso.”

A horn sounded from atop the wall, announcing their presence. Soon, a deputation of town elders arrived at the gate. The Batavi had done much to mask their barbaric roots. Almost all were clean shaven, though some did wear their hair long, pulled tight in the back. Those with facial hair kept it trimmed close and well groomed. All were clean and wore well-made breaches and tunics of bright colors, mostly red and blue. The man who appeared to be their leader wore an ornate, yet practical-looking tunic, with a cavalry long sword on his belt. He stopped before Centurion Macro and bowed.

“Welcome,
friends, to the land of the Batavi,” he said heartily, with just a hint of accent in his Latin. “I am Halmar, Chief of the Batavi.”

Macro
bowed his head. “It is good to see we still have friends and allies in this part of the world,” he replied, extending his hand which the Batavi Chief readily accepted. “For what Rome has done for my people, we humbly open our gates to you and your men.” With that, he waved them in and started walking towards the center of town.

“For barbarians living beyond the frontier, they seem to
do well,” Magnus observed.

“I agree
. You can see where we influenced them,” Artorius pointed to a bathhouse.

The architecture of most of the buildings was advanced for the area. Many of the roofs were tiled, with walls made of brick and masonry. The streets were remarkably clean as well. Still, all the structures possessed traits unique to the natives’ culture. Soon they came to the town hall. There was an overhang over the entrance, with timber columns on either side. The double doors leading inside were wooden, with ornate shields and spears affixed to them.

“Section leaders with me,” Macro directed. “We may be here a while. The rest of you, go ahead and see what you wish, but stay out of trouble.” With that he followed the Batavi chief into the main hall.

The inside was lit with massive torches fixed to the support pillars. Displays of arms could be seen against the walls, going all the way down to a large oaken table that dominated one end of the hall. The
chief waved the Romans to take seats. All did so, removing their helmets as servants came with trays bearing ale. Artorius took a drink of the frothy liquid and nearly choked; it was warm and rather bitter.

“
So,” Halmar began when everyone was seated and given refreshment, “what brings emissaries of Rome to our lands?”

“We have been conducting an in depth reconnaissance of the lands once occupied by the Cherusci,” Macro answered. “Unfortunately, our reception has been less than warm. We had a run in with a band of renegades two days ago. We thought it best to find out from our friends and allies in this area as to what may be happening.”

Halmar quaffed his ale in one gulp and immediately called for another before answering.

“Those bastards, the Cherusci
, are no more. They are scattered, leaderless since the death of Arminius. Most have been assimilated by other tribes, though they are little better. The Bructeri are constantly a thorn in our side. That is why you see that we walled up our towns and villages. They will not face us in the open. Our cavalry is superior, plus they know that any blatant violence against us will be construed as an act of war against Rome. Am I right to believe this is still the case?”

Macro nodded affirmatively.

“The Batavi have been a loyal ally. Rome values your friendship and will do what is necessary to protect it. If there have been any threats or attacks made against your people, they will be dealt with swiftly and terribly.”

Halmar raised his hands in resignation.
  “I only wish they had been so blatant. Then we could elicit your help in exterminating those vermin. The Bructeri confine themselves to raids in the night, attacks on our livestock and only rarely our people. Since the destruction of Arminius and the Cherusci, life for the most part has been good for us. As you see, we prosper.”

Artorius looked around the hall and was drawn to a raised display towards the far end. Torches were lit on either side, allowing one to view it fully. It looked almost like a grave. Atop was a long cavalry sword and oval shield. Both looked well
worn, but they had been placed with much reverence. A brass plaque adorned the center of the display.