Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (35 page)

Lennox sat at the table and placed his head in his hands. He had taken up residence in a small apartment in Augustodunum, awaiting the end of the rebellion. His body shook as he silently wept for his son. Kiana sat across from him. His wife stood sullenly off in the corner.

“You could have done more to help him,” she said, her voice
hoarse from crying.

Lennox looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen.
“What else could I have done?  His heart was set on seeing this through.  I could not stop him.” “You should have fought beside him.” Her voice was quiet.

Kiana’s eyes grew wide, not believing what she had heard.
She hated Sacrovir and the rebels, and she blamed them for Farquhar’s death rather than the Romans. The lad’s mother felt differently.

“You heard me,” she continued, in a louder, accusing voice.
“You and all the other nobles should have fought beside your sons! Better to have died honorably as our ancestors did!”  She was almost shouting.

“Will you be quiet, woman
?!” Lennox snapped. “These walls have ears, and we are not in a friendly house.”

“So what if the Romans do hear more seditious talk!” his wife continued to rant.
“I have lost my son, and my husband is nothing but a coward! I would rather be taken by the Romans . . .”

Lennox
lunged to his feet and struck her hard across the face before she could continue. “I will
not
be named a coward by my own wife!” he spat.  “I did not choose to throw my life away foolishly.  I gave Farquhar our ancestral sword, the most sacred artifact this family possesses, and now it is lost as well.  It was all I could do . . . it was all I could do.”  At that, Lennox started to break again, and he put his hands over his face while his wife started to wail and sob as she curled up in the corner of the room. Kiana stood and backed towards the door.  “I should go,” she said quietly.

Lennox took her in his arms and held her close.
“I am sorry you have seen us like this,” he said through his tears.  “Please forgive me.” “There is nothing to forgive,” Kiana whispered as she returned his embrace.

He released her
, and she stepped out into the night. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes once she was outside.

“An abominable predicament to be in,” a voice spoke.

Kiana leapt up, startled.
It took her a second to recognize the voice. She quickly looked to her left and saw her father walk into the torchlight. He was dressed in a Roman-style toga, his face worn and tired. With him were two of his body slaves, as well as a group of four Roman soldiers. Kiana rushed into her father’s arms, finally letting her own tears go.

“It’s alright,
daughter,” he said soothingly. “Everything is going to be alright now.”

“You have found your daughter, sir.
Now it is time for you to leave,” the legionary decanus spoke.

“Come,” the elder Gaul remarked with a motion of his head, “let us leave this place, Kiana.
There is a carriage waiting for us outside the main gates. These men escorted me here to ascertain that it is my daughter I seek, rather than a wayward son.”

“Let’s go,” the
decanus spoke again, pointing down the road. He waited for Kiana and her father to start walking before following close behind with his men. Not another word was spoken between father and daughter until they were in their carriage and away from the city.

“It was a noble thing you did,” the father spoke at length.
“I feel for Lennox, I really do. He is an old friend, and Farquhar was a fine young man.”

“I feel
sick,” Kiana said. “I saw the bodies of many of my friends today . . . mutilated . . . ripped apart by such savagery.”

“Yes
, and a young girl should not have to see such things. I saw the carnage the Romans wrought. War demonstrates humankind at its absolute worst, and the Romans have become masters of it. And yet, in the end we got off pretty lucky.”

“How so?”
Kiana asked.

“I have no sons,” h
er father replied. “I have land, slaves, a wealth of coin, and two beautiful daughters, but no sons. The Romans know this. Therefore, there is no chance of us falling victim to their purge.”

“What purge?”
Kiana felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She realized her people’s suffering had only begun with the defeat of Sacrovir’s army.

“Reparation and retribution
, my dear. The noble youths who were not killed in the battle were captured to a man. Legate Silius will ransom them and demand a fearful toll for their safe return.”

Kiana folded her arms across her chest, the sound of the carriage moving through the night playing an ominous tone as her father continued.

“The ransoms demanded will destroy the families who choose to pay them.
Lands will be confiscated, slaves taken, and the nobles will be stripped practically down to their last denarii. Already I have heard that Silius is planning a massive auction for the lands they take.”

“And what if a family is unable to pay the ransom?”
Her question caused her stomach to seize up, for she feared the worst in her father’s reply. Instead, he was evasive in his answer.

“That is something we
need not worry about,” he answered with finality. “I mourn for my friends, as well as my daughter, in their loss. But I still count my own family’s blessings. At least I know that I can still provide you with sufficient dowry to attract a suitable husband. I will have to search the province now in order to find a suitable man, but it will be done.”

Kiana smiled weakly and averted her eyes downward.
Her father leaned forward and placed his hand in hers.

“Farquhar was a good lad,” he remarked, “and he would have made you a fine husband.
   The union between our families would have been great indeed. But he is gone now, and there is no bringing him back. There will be few young men left in this region with any kind of status or position worthy of my daughter. But let us not think of these things now. You are safe, and we will be home soon.” He kept a watchful eye on his daughter as she lay back in the carriage and drifted off to sleep, exhaustion having overcome her at last. The drone of the carriage rumbling caused him to nod off eventually as well.

“Lost! All is lost!”
Belenus wailed.

Sacrovir fought to maintain his composure
, even as the rest of his entourage seemed to be falling apart.

“What happened to this mighty army you supposedly trained to fight like Spartans?” one commander fumed at Heracles.

Sacrovir stepped between the men as Heracles looked to be going for his sword.

“Enough,” he said in a calm voice. “We have suffered a setback, nothing more. Our army fled, yes. But the majority survived to fight another day.”

“You forget something,” Belenus
retorted. “The
Noble Youth
, the sons of our noblemen.
They
fought to the last, because they had nowhere to run to. With so many of their sons slain, their fathers will hardly forgive us for leading them to annihilation.”

Sacrovir spat on the ground
.  “I do not need the bloody nobles,” he cursed. “They are little more than lapdogs to Rome! I used their sons to keep them in line, that’s all. What I need is for my army to pull itself together and regroup! We still have the Romans badly outnumbered. They think we are beaten, but I tell you we can still overwhelm them if we can reform our minions!”

Indus rode alongside Broehain.
The former rebel leader took them deep into the hills. They were only sparsely populated with trees, mostly shrubs and tall grass. There were also no trails to speak of. Centurions Calvinus and Aemilius accompanied them, along with elements of the legion’s cavalry. As they came around the right-hand side of a hill, they saw the land open up to a flat plain, surrounded by the hills. There was a grove of trees to the left, and a large manor house on the right, surrounded by a short wall. Behind the manor was what looked to be at least a score of blacksmith shops.

“Well
, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Aemilius observed.

“Looks like he
’s had every available blacksmith in the entire region working for him.” Calvinus said, pointing to the structures behind the manor.

Broehain nodded in agreement.
“That is where Sacrovir manufactured all of his arms and armor,” he replied.  “It is also where those of us closest to him would meet.” “Let’s go say hello then, shall we?” Aemilius remarked.

“The Romans are coming!” a servant shouted, as he burst into the hall where Sacrovir and his men were meeting.

“What?” he asked alarmed.
“That's impossible!” As Sacrovir ran out of the hall, Heracles slinked slowly towards the back. The door had been left half open, and he silently disappeared.

Sacrovir stood on top of the wall surrounding his estate as a contingent of Roman horsemen started to encircle the complex.
He bit his lip as he recognized both Indus and Broehain riding with a pair of centurions. He lowered his eyes to the ground in contemplation before raising them to the sky. He took a deep breath as he made up his mind.

His rebellion was over
, thwarted by betrayal and the lack of true support from the masses. Very well, if it was truly over, then it would end on his terms, not the Romans'!

“Summon all the household staff,” he ordered the servant as he returned to the great hall.

“What is happening?” Belenus asked as Sacrovir returned.

“It is over,”
he replied. Sacrovir then faced all of his companions. “The Romans have found us. I am sorry to have led you to this end, gentlemen. But let the Romans know we died fighting for what we believe in; for the rights they have denied us from birth, for our heritage that they stripped from us; for the freedom from oppression and fiscal servitude.” He then turned to his servants who gathered behind him.

“All of you are now free,” he said.
“Let the Romans bear witness to your freedom, and do not allow yourselves to be denied. My last order is for you to set fire to this mansion, that it may not be used by the Romans for profit!”

Calvinus was puzzled to see a plume of smoke rising from inside the estate. He was further perplexed when he saw a large group of men and women in servants’ clothing walking out the main gate and walking towards them. He then rode forward with Indus and Aemilius, stopping in front of the group of slaves.

“What has happened?” he asked.

An older man at the front of the group addressed him.
“It is over, honorable centurion,” he replied.  “Sacrovir lies dead, slain by his own hand.  His closest companions died with him, and per his last request, the mansion now burns over their heads.  Our freedom was granted, and we ask that you honor this.” “You are in no position to ask us anything!” Aemilius snapped. “Your master was a traitor to his people, and as such I piss on any final requests of his!”

“You will
not be returned to slavery,” Calvinus replied, a cold look in his eyes.

The former slaves looked troubled and frightened
by his demeanor. After Aemilius’ rebuke, they feared the centurions.

Calvinus saw their anxiety and explained.
“Each of you will be interrogated to validate your story of Sacrovir’s demise.  You will provide any and all details of his rebellion and any accomplices who might still be alive.  Prove yourselves useful, and I will honor your freedom.  Play us false, and I will not sell you back into slavery; rather I will break every last one of you myself and have what’s left fed to wild dogs!”

Chapter XV
II: Reparation and Retribution

***

The prisoners were arranged by class and social status.
Each was then brought before a group of Roman officers. With the sheer number of prisoners needing to be tallied and ransomed, Silius had granted all officers of the rank of centurion and above authority to pass sentence on his behalf. He and the tribunes would deal with the leaders of the rebellion. Most of these men would either be executed or at best enslaved. Silius knew he could not delegate the authority to pass capital sentencing.

Centurions sat behind rickety desks
with their options, as well as any other officers that they saw fit to include in the interrogation. Macro had designated Flaccus and Camillus to sit on the sentencing board, with Camillus acting as his scribe.

He had wanted to include Statorius as well; however
, the tesserarius had been tasked with supervising the stockade, as well as the marshaling of prisoners to their designated interrogators. In a surprise move, Macro tasked Artorius with filling in for Statorius.

Praxus was on hand as well, helping to root through the piles of paperwork that needed to be sorted.
As each man came forward, he was required to state his full name and birthplace. Praxus and Artorius would then sift through the census rolls, which, in addition to tracking the population of the province, also logged each family’s wealth and social status.

The Roman bureaucracy was thorough in its tracking of subjects within the Empire.
From this information Macro would determine the ransom of each prisoner. Most of the ‘common’ prisoners were accompanied by their spouses, siblings, or other relatives. The nobles, being as most had not yet reached the age of maturity, were accompanied by their fathers or patriarchs. If a man could not provide a viable family name that appeared on the census roles, he was presumed to be an escaped slave or criminal and was condemned to slavery.

At close to midday, Artorius saw a prisoner escorted to them that he immediately recognized.
It was Alasdair, the young man whose friend Artorius had slain. His father, Kavan, was with him, his hand never leaving his son’s shoulder. Though he pitied the boy, it did not deter Artorius from his sense of justice. Alasdair was the first noble prisoner they had had to deal with, and he knew the price of his ransom would be severe.

“Name and place of birth,” Macro demanded.

“Alasdair, son of Kavan,” the lad replied quietly. “I am from the city of Avaricum.”

Artorius and Praxus systematically started through the census roles for Avaricum.
Praxus whistled quietly when he saw the amount of lands and wealth Alasdair’s family possessed.

“Can you believe this?”
Praxus asked in a low voice. “The price for this one will be extreme.”

“Quite,” Artorius replied as he handed the documents to Macro, who then quietly read through them.
He scribbled some notes, which he then showed to Flaccus and Camillus.

The
optio and signifier nodded in agreement with their centurion’s assessment. Macro bore into both father and son with his piercing gaze.

“Your son has been found guilty of supporting rebellion against the Emperor, Senate, and people of Rome,” he said to Kavan.
“In his mercy; the Emperor Tiberius Caesar has decreed that all prisoners of war be eligible for ransom, based on their family’s status and ability to pay.” It was the same spiel he had been giving all day, and yet there was no sense of monotony in his voice. “Your family holds Roman citizenship and is of the noble class of Gaul. Your status gives you a responsibility to the people. By allowing your son to be taken in by Sacrovir’s serpent tongue, you have failed in this responsibility. You have failed your people, and have disgraced your family and social class. By authority of Gaius Silius, Commanding Legate, your son’s ransom is set at one hundred talents. He is further prohibited from ever leaving the state around Avaricum without permission of the Roman censor, who he must appear before annually.”

Kavan closed his eyes and lowered his head as he heard the sentence.
One hundred talents was a considerable sum, one that would cost him the vast majority of his lands, and require him to decimate his household staff, as well as his other servants.

“Such a ransom will cripple my family
. . .” he began. Macro slammed his hand down on the desk.

“This is
not
a negotiation!” he barked. “Your son has committed treason and, as such, should be executed like a common criminal! Be glad we have allowed him to live! Either pay the ransom or your son can join the slaves and thieves that are bound for the sulfur mines in Mauretania. Those are your only options.”

“Alright then,” Kavan replied, nodding slightly.
“I will pay the ransom.”

As they were escorted away by a pair of
legionaries, a horrifying scream came from two tables down, where Centurion Dominus sat. He held a particular loathing for the rebels and Artorius knew the ransom he demanded would be even more brutal. Silius had given little specifics as to how the sentencing should be conducted. All he had said was that he would rather they err on the side of severity rather than leniency, though he had stated that the ransoms demanded had to be within the ability of the prisoners and their families to pay. Artorius correctly deduced that the screams came from a young nobleman whose family had refused to pay his ransom.

“No!
No! No!”
the lad screamed in terror.
“Father . . . please, do not abandon me!”

The lad’
s father exited the hall as the boy struggled against the legionaries who held him. As he was thrown to the floor, one of the soldiers drew his gladius and smashed him in the mouth with the pommel. The other legionary grabbed the boy roughly by the hair and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face.

“Hey!”
Proculus shouted as he strode across the hall to where the boy now lay limp. “Don’t break him! He needs to be able to make the journey to Mauretania.”

Other young prisoners started to tremble in terror, realizing their fate if their fathers refused their ransoms.
One urinated in his tunic, which brought a sharp cuff across the ear from one of his legionary handlers. Another passed out completely.

“Hey
, Macro, tell me we don’t have to escort those bastards to Mauretania,” Camillus remarked.

Macro allowed himself a half grin and shook his head.
“No, there are auxiliary troops coming up from Massilia. They will escort the slave traders to the sulfur mines in Africa.” “Pretty harsh sentence,” Artorius observed.

“Tell me about it,” Flaccus added.
“I had to do an escort mission like that one time. If you lads ever plan on traveling to North Africa, don’t bother. It is inhospitable, and the climate insufferable. I got to take a tour of one of the mines when we got there. The foreman seemed to get some macabre sense of satisfaction from his job. It is brutal down there. You live, work, eat, and sleep underground. Most slaves don’t realize when they arrive that they have taken their last glimpse of the sun. Day and night become as one, and you lose all sense of time. I would imagine that many don’t survive even a year.”

“Tiberius wants to be able to balance mercy with justice and retribution,” Macr
o added. “He gives these people a chance at reparation, and if refused, we impose the harshest sentence we can on them.”

“This is much worse than being sent off to be a gladiator,” Camillus
noted. “At least there you get to see the sun. Not to mention death probably comes quickly.”

“That and you are able to live with the hope of winning your freedom,” Artorius remarked.
“These men are dead the moment they walk out of here.”

For two more days they continued in their hateful task of ransoming prisoners.
Artorius could not even count how many they had processed. Two prisoners had been denied their ransoms and suffered the same fate as the lad they had watched being taken away screaming on the first day.

One man
, they discovered, was a criminal, wanted for a variety of offenses that ranged from horse thievery to arson. This one had tried to attack Macro with his bare hands, bound as they were. Artorius and Flaccus had been quick enough to intercept the man, Artorius throwing him over the desk, knocking papers everywhere. The man then tried to bite into Artorius’ forearm as Flaccus repeatedly smashed him across the head with the pommel of his gladius. He then turned his weapon and went to stab the man when Artorius stayed his hand.

“Don’
t grant this bastard a quick release by death,” he remarked.

Flaccus nodded and sheathed his weapon.
After that incident, Macro made certain all prisoners were bound at the feet, as well as the hands.

That evening Artorius walked down to where Magnus and some of the others were dismantling the stockade. They were just going to tear it down, but then some of the legionaries had decided to use the timber to start a series of bonfires. Soldiers could be seen lounging in the glow of the flames, glad to be done with prisoners and rebellion. Artorius found Magnus roasting some type of meat on a long stick that he had stuck into the fire.

“What
are
you cooking?” he asked as Magnus smiled at him.

“Goat
; I got it real cheap from a local herdsman on his way to the market. You want some?” He pointed to a mess tin that was piled high with cooked meat.

Artorius realized he had not eaten most of the day
, and he was very hungry. He also shared many of the same tastes as Magnus.

“Thanks, it smells good
.” He sat down on a fallen tree made into a bench and proceeded to eat some cooked goat, something he had never had before.

It was actually quite good.
His Nordic friend had a knack for cooking fresh meat.

“Bloody hateful task,” he remarked as Magnus pulled his stick from the fire.

“I don’t know about that,” Magnus remarked. “I rather enjoy this type of cooking.”

“I meant the task I had to do, sitting on the sentencing boards!”
Artorius replied, exasperated.

“Oh
, that,” Magnus said with a dismissive wave. “I’m just glad this bloody rebellion is at an end. I heard Sacrovir killed himself and burned his estate over his head. Quite dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” Artorius replied.
“I found it rather disturbing the number of nobles who refused to ransom their sons. Their lands and treasure meant more to them than their own flesh and blood.”

“Such men are driven blind by greed,” Magnus remarked as he turned his makeshift spit
over and stepped away from the fire. “In their minds, sons can be replaced. By the way, I saw the sword you got off that dead kid. A fine weapon, that!”

“Indeed,” Artorius acknowledged.
“I didn’t want some jackal in the rear taking it for his own collection, or that of the legion for that matter. It is too fine a weapon to remain so discarded, collecting dust.”

“So you took it for your own collection?”
Magnus interjected. He raised his hands in resignation as Artorius stared at him. “Hey, I’m not judging you. Just making a small jest is all. I mean, you killed the lad; the spoils of war are yours. I just wish I had found something nice and shiny to take back with me. You got that sword, and Decimus got Florus’ helmet.”  He gave a short laugh. “Now
that
was a prize!”

“Would your father have ransomed you?”
Artorius asked abruptly, bringing them back to the original subject.

“Sure,” Magnus replied with a casual shrug.
“Of course, he would have beaten me to death as soon as he got me home! I think I would rather deal with the sulfur mines in Mauretania than face my father like that!”

Arto
rius had to laugh at his friend’s dark humor. He then thought about what Flaccus said about the mines. Such a place would break any man, no matter how strong he was in mind and body. One could only go on for so long, once all hope was lost.