Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (3 page)

Vitruvius gave a slight chuckle at the memory.
“I remember. You stabbed a barbarian with the signum and then planted it in his chest!” “Yeah, and I couldn’t get the damn thing unstuck! I had to fight off a swarm of those bastards to keep them from getting their hands on it. I was scared to death because I knew if I let them carry off the standard, Macro would have had my balls!”

The rest of the section watched as Statorius and Praxus packed all of their personal belongings and gear and as Artorius moved to Statorius’ bunk. The decanus had a slightly larger living space than the legionaries and Artorius intended to take full advantage of this. Praxus would move to a similar bunk in Sergeant Sextus’ section, one block of rooms over, the former decanus having already moved to a billet in the First Cohort while waiting for his retirement papers to come through. Sergeant Statorius would get his own quarters at the end of the barracks, next to those of the signifier and the optio.

As Statorius walked out with the last of his belongings
, he stuck his hand out, which Artorius readily accepted.

“Take care of these men,” the
sergeant said. “They served me well, and I know they’ll do the same for you.”

Artorius nodded and clasped his former section leader’s hand even harder.
“I won’t let you down,” he replied as Statorius made his way down the long hallway to his new quarters. After he had gone, Artorius turned and appraised what was left of the section,
his
section now.

There was Decimus, the most experienced
legionary in the section. Three times he had been awarded the Rampart Crown for having been the first soldier over the wall of an enemy stronghold; a feat which had never been replicated within the legion. Decimus’ hair was a lighter color, giving off a slightly reddish tint. He was taller than most of the men, with a lean build. He reminded Artorius of a monkey the way he could climb the most difficult obstacles with ease.

Valens was the resident letch who had quite the notorious reputation for his exploits with women of ill repute
, though his standards were practically nonexistent. This perplexed many, because he was rarely drunk and could not blame his debaucheries on being inebriated. Still, he was a rock solid soldier and extremely competent in battle. He bore a perpetually deviant grin and constantly twitching left eye.

Carbo, the lover of wine and spirits, did not look like the typical
legionary. Slightly overweight with a florid complexion that made him look constantly out of breath, his appearance was very much deceiving. He was reliable in a crisis and had been decorated for valor on numerous occasions. Besides wine, his other weakness was a local tavern wench that he swore, repeatedly, had a twin sister.

Then there was Gavius, who had come through recruit training with Artorius five years before.
Orphaned at a young age, his family name alone had allowed him to join the legions. At first thought by many to be meek and unassuming, he had proven his mettle time and again during the campaigns against Arminius. He was also one of the most skilled javelin throwers that Artorius had ever seen.

And finally
, there was Magnus, the Norseman. He had also gone through recruit training with Artorius and was his best friend. He was of similar height and build as Artorius, though the mop of blonde hair on his head and piercing blue eyes betrayed his less than purely Latin origins. Along with Decimus, he was one of the better educated legionaries, and Artorius hoped to see him rise through the ranks, as well, some day. Magnus was a natural leader, one who did not need rank to command respect. There were two vacancies within the section, though Artorius knew it was rare for sections to ever be at full strength. While having additional legionaries to share the workload would be welcome, the section agreed they did like having the extra space. Indeed, one of the vacant bunks had been converted into a type of shrine where relics and trophies won on campaign by the legionaries were displayed.

“So does this mean you’ll be buying the wine later?” Magnus asked.

“Not tonight,” Artorius replied as he lay down on his bunk. “Besides, they won’t do the ceremony until tomorrow, so it’s not even official yet.”

“Yeah, best not screw things up the night before,” Decimus added. “Don’t want to end up like Praxus and have to wait another six years for promotion to roll around!”

Artorius snorted at that. Indeed, Praxus should have been promoted years before, yet it took a long time for the scourge of his mistake to erase itself.

That night as Artorius sat writing at his small desk there was a knock at the door.

“Come!” he shouted
, and Praxus stuck his head in. Artorius was by himself, the rest of the section enjoying a night off. He looked up from the letter he was writing to his father under the soft glow of an oil lamp. He smiled when he saw his friend and peer, and waved him in.

“So how are the boys assimilating?” Praxus asked as he grabbed a stool and sat across from Artorius.

Gaius Praxus had been a peer mentor to Artorius; the most experienced and quick-thinking legionary he had met. He was fairly tall, about the same height as Decimus, his hair shorn on the sides and back and very short on top. Artorius frequently accused him of keeping his hair so short in order to hide the gray.

“They seem to be adapting alright. Of course we haven’t been officially promoted yet, so maybe it just hasn’t sunk in. Carbo and Valens seem to be perfectly happy where they are, and besides I don’t think either of them can read or write, so any hopes of promotion are out for them. I was a bit concerned that there might be some resentment from Decimus, though.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Praxus answered. “Decimus is educated and a good soldier, but he has little aspirations when it comes to having to lead other legionaries. I think his ambition is to keep getting himself decorated on campaign so that he can get moved over to the First Cohort and enjoy veteran status as soon as possible. Usually, that doesn’t happen until one has been in sixteen years; however, I have seen legionaries transferred to the First based on merit. What about Gavius and Magnus? I remember when you all came through recruit training together.” Artorius shrugged.

“I think they’re happy for me, Magnus especially. He has a lot of potential, and I hope that I don’t overshadow him. Given the right kind of mentoring, I think he should get his own section some day, sooner rather than later
I hope. Funny thing is you know both of them are older than me? Only a few months in Magnus’ case, mind you, but it does seem a bit odd that I am not only the section leader, I’m also the youngest.”

“It is experience and what one does with it that makes a leader, not his age,” Praxus
reached across the desk and gave Artorius a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“So how do you like your new section?” Artorius asked.

Praxus shrugged. “They seem like a decent lot. I’ve known most of them for some time. Four of the lads were there back when Vitruvius was the Decanus. Two are brand new recruits in the middle of training. I think you’ll be getting a chance to work with them soon enough.”

Artorius nodded. He had almost forgotten about the additional responsibilities laid on him. He was going to be appointed the
chief weapons instructor as well. It was an additional duty, and one that meant extra incentive pay, which he liked. He just had to learn quickly how to go about organizing the training schedules for sections and assessing individual soldiers, particularly recruits. Plus he knew there were numerous duties, that as a decanus, he would have to oversee as well. It all seemed overwhelming. Praxus saw his concern.

“Don’t worry too much about it. They don’t start individual weapons training for a couple of weeks. That will give you time to go over the lesson plan that Vitruvius left.”

“I just have to make sure my own section is in order before then,” Artorius replied.

“Hey, just be glad you have all veterans and no recruits to worry about,” Praxus
smiled. “Your boys are pretty much self-sufficient and can take care of themselves. They’ll help pick up the slack if they see you getting overwhelmed. Remember, we used to do the same for Statorius.”

Artorius furrowed his brow in contemplation.
“Yeah, he did seem to come to you and me a lot. I never really gave it much thought.”

“He came to me because I had the most experience, and he came to you because he was grooming you to replace him. I know he brought your name up to Vitruvius and Macro on more than one occasion. Vitruvius
, especially, commended your talents and leadership potential. Truth be told, Artorius, I think all three of them see you going places within the legion. Once you get assimilated into your new duties you should start learning the duties of the senior officers in the century. Camillus and Flaccus would be glad to help you, and you already know Statorius is looking out for you.”

“I won’t lie to you, Praxus,” Artorius said after a moment’s contemplation
. “I’ve oftentimes watched Macro, Dominus, Proculus, and even Master Centurion Flavius. And I’ve thought to myself, ‘I’ll be there someday.’ Pretty presumptuous, I know.”

Praxus shook his head at that.
“Not really. I remember how young Macro was when he was promoted to centurion. I think he was only twenty-nine or thirty. If I were to place a wager on it, I would bet that you see the centurionate at an even younger age than he. did. Normally one has to be at least thirty to even be considered for the promotion; However, we all know there are exceptions to every rule. Augustus set quite the precedent when he was given the consul’s chair at nineteen, sixteen years shy of the minimum age requirement.”

Artorius started laughing
and then sobered when he saw Praxus’ face showed that he was serious. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, perplexed. “I don’t think the rules the senatorial class chooses to apply to itself are relevant to mere plebs like us. You’ve got to remember, Macro got accelerated to centurion after that corruption scandal that came to light after Tiberius was recalled to Rome. If I remember right, more than twenty centurions in the legion were discharged in disgrace.”

“Twenty-seven
, actually,” Praxus replied. “And no, you wouldn’t remember, because you weren’t even in the army yet!”

“All the same,” Artorius continued, “the point I’m making is that I would have to go from a junior section leader to
centurion within six years, and I don’t see a mass number of vacancies coming open like that. It would also mean having to bypass the principal ranks of tesserarius and signifier.”

“Vitruvius did it,” Praxus replied with a shrug. “He was selected for
optio when he was still a decanus, and he only held the optionate for three years.”

“Yes, but he had plenty of
years as a section leader before that,” Artorius replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your vote of confidence. It took me five years to become a section leader, which I admit is no small feat. However, unless there’s another big shake-up of some sort, I imagine I’ll be at least the same age Macro was, if not older, before I rise to centurion.”

“You make your own des
tiny, Artorius,” Praxus clapped him again on his shoulder. “Take care of your men, prove yourself to be the leader that Macro, Vitruvius, and Statorius know you are, and your path will show itself to you.”

Julius Sacrovir sat at a small table in a dark corner of the nearly empty tavern
, brooding over the injustice he had to endure. His family had long ago inherited the franchise of Roman citizenship during Julius Caesar’s dictatorship, despite their Gallic ancestry. His was a noble family of great wealth and status in the province who had adopted the name Julius, as did many other noble Gallic families, much to his distaste. It was sickening to him that they should take the name of a man who had brought so much suffering and hardship to Gaul. Hundreds of thousands had been murdered during Caesar’s nine year campaign. His wars of conquest had never carried the endorsement of the Senate and had been entirely of his own making.

It had been almost seventy-two years since Alesia fell, ending the
Gallic wars. Caesar’s nemesis, Vercingetorix, had surrendered in hopes of saving his people. Instead, those that weren’t butchered were sold into slavery. As a way of showing his admiration for his worthy adversary, Caesar had Vercingetorix imprisoned for six years, all the while treating him as a royal guest. At the end of that time, he was paraded in Caesar’s long-awaited triumph and then ritualistically strangled for the amusement of the mob.