Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (28 page)

At around
midnight, Proculus gave the order to halt. They were still deep in the woods, and there was no room for them to set up a proper marching camp. Most of the legionaries elected to either sleep on the road, or just off to the side on the grass. Sentries paced up and down the lines, making certain no one intruded upon them. Indus’ cavalry had stayed with the Third Cohort to provide extra security, though Indus himself had ridden back with a handful of men to report back to Calvinus.

Artorius had just sat down on a patch of trampled grass when he noticed Centurion Macro standing over him.
Immediately he came to his feet. “Sir,” he said, standing rigid.

“At ease,
sergeant. Let’s take a walk.” Without waiting for a reply, Macro started walking down the road.

Artorius
was quickly at his side. When they were out of earshot of the sentries, Macro stopped and turned to face the young decanus.

“You did well today,” he said.
Artorius saw the consternation on his face; almost as if Macro were uncomfortable talking with him.

“We all did well today,
sir,” he said.

The
centurion shook his head. “Not all of us,” he said.  “Instead of reforming the century after we secured the wagons, I became fixated on them.  Thoughts of plunder became my focus; so relieved I was that we had succeeded in driving the rebels out of their encampment.  Had it not been for your actions and ability to make decisions in the heat of the moment, those rebels could have caught our entire century off guard and inflicted many needless casualties.  You saved many lives today; to say nothing of you and your men putting an end to that vile bastard Florus.” “Well, actually he put an end to himself,” Artorius corrected, a wry smile on his face. He became sober when he saw Macro’s expression unchanged. “Sir, I reacted the way any soldier of Rome would have. The enemy was coming at us, I grabbed whoever was available and held them long enough for you to bring up the rest of the century.”

“It should never have come to that,” Macro remarked.
“The battle was not yet decided, and I knew better than to allow the men to fall into complacency.”

“No,” Artorius replied, shaking his head.
“All of us knew better. But we recovered and routed the enemy.”

“That you did,” Macro replied, allowing a half smile.
“I’ve already spoken with Proculus and he agrees that your section deserves to be recognized for what you did today. He concurred with my assessment that had you not reacted so quickly to the threat, many of our men would have fallen before we had a chance to reform. You have done well.”

Broehain skulked through the shadows of the trees. The moon shone brightly, as if the gods themselves were trying to help the Romans find him. The light glinted off the breastplate he carried. Florus may have been a pompous fool, yet Broehain still felt a certain kinship to the slain nobleman. His instincts told him that he would be the only one returning to Sacrovir; the rest having fled into the hills, where they would stay until they felt it was safe to return home.

Slowly he made his way up the hill.
The slope was steep and the breastplate a burden, but still he persevered. He knew he had to stay off the roads; no doubt they were swarming with Roman soldiers. In reality, he had no idea where the legionaries had come from or how many there had been. He had been in the midst of the battle with Indus’ cavalry when their army started fleeing around him. He was fortunate enough to have made it away from the fray as the Romans routed the Turani once again. Broehain was shamed by what had transpired. Twice now his people had been surprised and decimated by the Romans. Even if none of his men continued to fight, he knew he had to. He would avenge his people; alone if need be.

Artorius unlaced the straps on his armor and felt a surge of relief as the weight came off him. As he lay down with his head against his pack, he could not help but think what he would do with his portion of the captured gold. At the same time he was worried that he may not get a chance to spend it. After all, once they returned they would have Sacrovir’s main force to deal with. And when that time came, there would be no surprises. They would have to face Sacrovir in the open, badly outnumbered.

The die rolled ‘Venus,’
he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.
I only hope we can cast it again.

Chapter X
IV: The Noble Youth of Gaul

***

The great hall of the Augustodunum University was crowded with nobles, as well as Sacrovir’s top men.
When word reached the various nobles that their sons had been taken by Sacrovir, they swarmed angrily on Augustodunum. Sacrovir lounged on a raised dais, his bodyguards in a line to his front. He was resting his head in his hand as he listened to the mob of noblemen, his peers, as they cursed his name.

“This is an outrage!” a nobleman named Lennox shouted.
“You dare to come here and take our sons as hostages!”

“Your sons are not hostages, but rather my guests,” Sacrovir said in a slow and steady voice.
“Many of them have flocked to my banner of freedom.”

“Your
freedom
is a death sentence to our sons!” another noble named Kavan stated.

“
Legionary forces are heading this way, even as we speak,” Lennox continued. “Do you really think you have a chance against the Rhine Army?”

“Two legions are all the Romans are sending against us,” Sacrovir answered.
“I already know who they are and who they have brought with them. With your sons fighting for me, I have the Romans outnumbered nearly four to one.  We will roll right over them and take this province as our own!”

“Vercingetorix had the Romans outnumbered as well,” Kavan remarked, “you should remember what they did to him!”

“Vercingetorix became overzealous and blundered at the last,” Sacrovir retorted sharply. “My men, and your sons in particular, are much better equipped to fight the Romans than he was. You speak of the past, of Gaul’s
defeats
by Rome; I speak of the future and of victory! Your sons are the
Noble Youth of Gaul
, an iron force that will break the oppression of Rome!”

There were a few cheers at this from the young “guests.”

“My son is but a boy,” Lennox pleaded. “You have filled his head with tales of a glory that does not exist . . .”

“
Wrong!”
Sacrovir boomed as he slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair and stood up.  “I have filled your son’s head with that which you have denied him! You, the noblemen of Gaul, have forgotten your heritage and the virtues of the Gallic people.”  He began pacing across the dais. “Instead you look to Rome to give you the scraps off their tables, for that is all they give us. We are of the same social standing as those within the senatorial class, and yet they deny us the most basic rights. I have cast off my Roman citizenship, as have your sons. If the fathers will not reclaim what is theirs by right, then I look for strength in their sons!” With that, he turned and stormed out the back of the hall. Guards prevented any from pursuing him further.

As
Lennox and scores of nobles walked out into the daylight, he clutched at his pounding head. His heart filled with anxiety. He was surprised to see his son waiting for him. Farquhar was leaning against a pillar, his arms folded across his chest. Lennox found his breath coming rapidly as he grabbed his son by the shoulders. Farquhar did not return the embrace.

“Son, please…do not give in to this madness,” Lennox
said sternly, their gazes locked. “Do not throw away your future for what can only bring suffering and death.”

“If
by my suffering and death I can bring freedom to Gaul, that is a price I am willing to pay,” Farquhar replied coldly. “If you are to honor me, and honor our family, you will not try and stop me from doing what I must do. I have seen what the Romans can do. They fight with deceit and trickery. I watched them murder the Turani like cowards, even after they had surrendered. I will not submit myself and my family to such a race.” Lennox shook his head slightly.

“I cannot believ
e what Sacrovir has done to you,” Lennox said. “I do not doubt your bravery, but listen to me. I do not care what training Sacrovir has tried to give you-- boys are not soldiers. Outnumbered or not, the Romans will roll right over you. This army of his is made up of the dregs of society. His gladiators and thugs will run once they face the wrath of the legions.”

“What is this blind fear you have of the Romans?
Sacrovir was right, there is no bravery left in the noble fathers of Gaul.” Farquhar stormed down the stairs.

Lennox
was on his heels. “The Romans nearly exterminated our people at one time.  Since the time of Caesar, we have become part of their society.  Our people have prospered!  Surely, you cannot forget how well our own family has done over the past few generations.  We have acquired much in the way of land and status.  You throw that all away, and for what?  There is virtue in bravery when it serves a higher purpose.  But this . . . this is foolhardy, a foolish expedition to sate one man’s lust for glory!”

Farquhar immediately turned to face his father.

“I fight to restore some dignity to our family!” he spat. “The so-
called Fathers of Gaul
have allowed us to become the Romans’ lapdogs; they sell their souls for scraps of land that were already theirs by ancestral right! Well, I am no lapdog, Father. I will not stand idle and let our people suffer this humiliation and servitude any longer.” He turned and briskly walked away.

Lennox
’s heart was in anguish; a deepening sense of sorrow at his son’s determination. He knew Farquhar's mind was made up, but he could not allow things to end between them this way.

“Farquhar
, wait!” he shouted.

Farquhar stopped and stooped his shoulders slightly,
awaiting yet another chastising from his father, but wouldn’t turn around.

Instead
, Lennox walked around to face him and spoke softly. “You have chosen your path. I have done all I can, and now you feel you must accelerate your ascension into manhood. I
pray
that the gods spare you. But if not, do it with this on you.”

From beneath his
cloak, he produced a fine sword, with a long, thin blade and an ornate scabbard covered in etchings depicting men and horses. “At least die with your ancestors’ weapon in your hand.”

Farquhar took the sword
and embraced his father hard.  “I will make you proud, Father. You will see. It will all be over soon, I promise you.”

As he watched Farquhar walk away, Lennox almost felt something prophetic in his son’s words.

Indeed it will all be over soon, my son.

Calvinus could not help but feel a sense of relief as he strolled out into the night air.
Florus had failed to undermine the loyalty of the Treveri cavalry, his forces of Turani rebels had been dispersed, and Florus himself was dead. Two cohorts from city garrisons had arrived with another expected within the next two days. The Third Cohort, along with Indus’ cavalry, was expected on the morrow, as was Silius. He had with him the rest of the Twentieth Legion, along with the entire First Germanica.

The
master centurion took a deep breath as he gazed over the fort rampart and into the hills. For over those hills, about fifteen miles away, lay the city of Augustodunum, where Sacrovir was marshaling all of his forces together.

Calvinus started calculating numbers in his head.
The losses amongst the Third Cohort and Indus’ cavalry had been less severe than expected, though a full hundred of the cavalry were escorting prisoners and wounded to Augusta Raurica. With the entire First and Twentieth Legions, the garrison cohorts, and Indus’ cavalry, their combined force still numbered less than thirteen thousand men. Sacrovir was said to have more than three times as many under arms, maybe more. His thoughts were disturbed as he saw a rider coming through the gate. It was Agricola, coming to report back to him. Calvinus dismounted the rampart and went to greet the centurion.

“It’s pretty quiet out there, but definitely tense,” Agricola
reported as he removed his helmet.

“Do explain.
”

Agricola pulled out a rough sketch that he had made of the area his men were observing.
“We managed to get within about three miles of the town, but no closer.  The ground opens up there, and we could not get any closer without the risk of being spotted.  As it is, I think Sacrovir probably knows we are there anyway.

“Traffic coming in and out of the town has come to almost a complete standstill.  The enemy knows that he cannot disrupt the lives of the entire city for long, so I think he may be finalizing his preparations to face us.”
“Where do you think they intend to muster their forces?” Calvinus asked.

“There is a wide open plain, not too far from here.
It’s large enough for him to encamp his entire army, plus it is far enough away from the city. I think they will probably stage there and wait for us to attack. Or, if we don’t have the rest of the army on site, he may decide to sortie against our positions here.”

“He
has
to know that we’ve got reinforcements coming,” Calvinus remarked, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t see why he has not attacked us already. That way he could wipe out a portion of our army before the main force even arrives.”

“He has the men, but they may not be completely arme
d yet,” Agricola replied. “I said traffic was at a standstill, but that was not entirely correct. There have been wagons going
in
to the city, but nothing coming out. Those going in were all under armed escort as well. I think they are loaded with arms and armor for his men. Once fully equipped, they will be on the move.”

“Well, there’s no way they can reach us in less than a day, and hopefully Silius will have arrived well before then.”

“Any word from Proculus and the third?” Agricola asked.

Calvinus nodded in reply.
“Yes.  Florus, happily, is dead, the Turani routed, and the third is on their way back, along with Indus’ cavalry.” Agricola closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods for that,” he muttered.  “And now, with your permission, I will leave these diagrams with you and head back to my men.” Calvinus nodded and waved for him to go.

As the Third Cohort drew closer to their outpost, they saw that Silius had arrived. A massive camp had been erected, the eagles of both the Twentieth Valeria and First Germanica posted in the center. Calvinus rode up to meet them.

“Good to have you guys back,” he said as he clasped Proculus’ hand.

“It’s good to be back,” Proculus replied heartily.

The men of the Third Cohort still marched with energy and purpose, though it was clear that their ordeal of the last few days had taken its toll on them.

“I want you to put your men down once they get back to their barracks and cleaned up. They look like hell,” Calvinus observed.

Indeed the men of the Third Cohort were a haggard sight.
Even though they had only been gone a total of four days, much had happened to them. They had gotten little if any sleep, none had shaved or bathed, and all were worn from the endless marching, to say nothing of the battle they had waged against a vastly superior force. The men were elated by their victory and spoils, though all were too exhausted to show it.

Artorius dropped his pack on the floor, removed his helmet, and sat down on his bunk. Most of his men fell right on their bunks once they dropped their packs.

“You guys can sleep once you take care of stowing your equipment and servicing your weapons and armor,” he stated.

He heard a groan from some of them, but they knew there was nothing for it.
They had maybe a day or two before they would march against Sacrovir and priority was making certain their equipment was fully serviceable.

“Come on guys, let’s get it done,” Magnus added as he started kicking at bunks.

There were no further complaints as the men went about checking their armor and weapons.
Though they were exhausted, they were as fully aware of the gravity of the situation, as was Artorius.

Once he was satisfied with his own equipment, Artorius headed to the small bathhouse on the post.
It was much smaller than the ones that graced legionary fortresses, but it still had all the facilities needed to thoroughly clean and rejuvenate oneself. He made sure that he took the time to shave as well, even though this was an almost unnecessary routine. Even after four days, his face bore few facial hairs. In truth, Artorius was glad for it. Roman soldiers kept themselves clean-shaven, for facial hair was seen as a sign of barbarism. The fact that he could not even grow a beard made it easier for him.