Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (25 page)

Proculus never took pleasure in torture
and it seemed like they were doing a lot of it lately. Too often the person under interrogation would say what they felt their assailant wanted to hear, just to end the suffering. On the other hand, if one was not brutal enough they would get no information out of the prisoner. It was a balancing act, one which Proculus did not care to take part in. However he did see the need for it from time to time, especially when information was time sensitive; plus the slightest hint of rebellion enraged him.

The prisoner was an older man, long-haired,
with a scraggly beard. He was nowhere near as well kempt as most of the citizens in the region, and he still reeked of “barbarian” in the Centurion’s mind. The man was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, his feet just inches off the floor. His ribs were already battered and bruised from the beating he had withstood thus far. Two legionaries stood by with clubs in their hands, ready to exact more punishment. One was a rather young soldier, one who had never witnessed someone being beaten into a confession, much less taking part in one. His face was pale and he was constantly wiping sweat from his face and forehead. He was by no means effeminate or weak; he had seen his fair share of fighting on the battlefield. It was just that there was an extreme difference between killing men in battle where one reacts rather than thinks; and having to consciously and deliberately cause pain and suffering, where there is too much time to think. He only hoped that the Centurion would not ask him to start cutting off fingers or limbs. The other legionary looked nonchalant, and even a little bored.

“I will ask you once again,
barbarian
, where did your friends go?” Proculus asked, his face inches from the rebel’s.

“Just kill me and get it over with,
Roman
,” the rebel said, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. Proculus shook his head and nodded to the two Soldiers. They moved to either side of the man and in turn smashed his sides with their clubs. The rebel winced and bit his lip hard, though he made not a sound, even as his ribs broke with a sickening snap. One of the soldiers moved to the front and jabbed him hard in the groin with his club. Finally the man’s will broke and he cried out in pain as he coughed up bile and blood. Proculus waved the soldiers back.

“Are you ready to speak, or am I going to have to castrate you?” Proculus asked. The rebel’s eyes were shut hard, his breathing becoming even more labored.

“The old mill...on the west side of the river,” he said at last. “That is where we meet.”

“And how many of you are there?”

“Just a couple hundred…we came here last month…Heracles is hoping to recruit more freedom fighters…”

“Fucking traitors more like,” the young legionary spat while wiping the sweat from his forehead. He hated the barbarian for forcing him to do the horrible things that he had to do. Proculus raised his hand, silencing him. He then turned and started to walk out of the room.

“What do you want us to do with him?” the other legionary asked after stifling a yawn. Proculus looked at the prisoner, who only looked to be half alive.

“Cut him down for now. If his information proves correct, you can cut his throat. If he has played us false, beat him to death.” With that, the Centurion left. The old man’s eyes grew wide in horror and sorrow. Had had just betrayed his comrades, and even then he was sti
ll condemned to die. The young legionary flew into a rage and beat the man across the face and head with his club until he was unconscious, blood running from numerous cuts and gouges.

“Hey not yet!” the other
soldier chided as he cut the bonds holding the prisoner to the rafters. They let his body fall to the floor in a heap. The young man stood with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. His companion bore a look of concern upon his face.

“Never had to torture anyon
e before?” he asked. The young legionary shook his head.

“Never,” he replied. “I thought we had special detachments for that sort of thing.”

“We do, we just didn’t bring any with us seeing as how they are a legion headquarters asset.”

“Well we should have.” The younger soldier tossed his club into a corner before helping to carry the unconscious rebel into his cell. “You know I am no stranger to violence. I just don’t like to witness suffering, that’s all.”

“Not many of us do,” his companion replied. “Those who do should either be locked away, or else sent over to Legion headquarters!” Both men laughed at the dark humor as they locked the condemned man away.

Macro and Vitruvius were both waiting outside. They could hear the wailings of the heartbroken rebel as Proculus walked out the door.

“Ready your men,” he ordered. “It would seem the rebels are using the abandoned mill as a meeting place.”

“Right under our bloody noses this whole time,” Vitruvius remarked.

“Quite,” Proculus replied. “We will all meet at the drill field to the south just after sunset. It is about the only place we can cluster without causing alarm.”

“There are a number of shops and houses in the vicinity of the mill,” Macro observed. “Should we not evacuate or at least warn them?” Proculus shook his head.

“There isn’t time,” he replied. “Not only
have that, but mass numbers of people leaving the area will only alert the rebels. Plus we do not know who may be sympathizing with them.”

Chapter XV: Fire and Hate

The mill had not been used for some time before the rebels occupied it again, and had fallen into disrepair; hence why Heracles found it to be the perfect hiding place. There was a jetty with numerous boats just a short walk away as well. Even if the Romans were to find them, they would have little trouble escaping.

Though their recruiting efforts in Lugdunum had been thwarted thus far, Heracles was far from beaten. He truly believed in Sacrovir’s revolutionary ideals. With Sacrovir and Florus both gone, the young Greek felt that it was his obligation to see their dream become a reality. He had planned to take the boats and head south. There was a Roman estate that they could refit themselves with supplies. He was debating whether or not to burn it to the ground.

That will depend on the hospitality of our host,
he thought to himself. He knew who the estate belonged to, which made him eager to exact a bit of retribution against the Romans.

Most of his men were asleep, but for some reason Heracles found that he was unable
to join them. The events of the day had shaken his nerve a bit, though he dared not show it. He had come too close to getting captured, and in fact had lost a handful of his men to the Romans. He chastised himself for having even come to Lugdunum in the first place. He knew better than to try and recruit from a city that had its own garrison of Legionaries!

Heracles stood in one of the old lofts, gazing south towards the river. A cool breeze blew in and it made him shiver. He then looked to his right and his gaze froze in place, his eyes unable to believe what they were seeing.

“It's not possible,” he said in a low voice, yet there it was. Coming up the road at a fast jog was an entire column of Roman soldiers. They were without torches, depending upon the moonlight to guide them, not wishing to disclose their presence too soon. Heracles grimaced and raced inside the mill.

“Everybody up!”
he shouted, kicking men from their peaceful slumber.

“What is it?” one of his men asked, wiping his eyes.

“We are undone,” Heracles answered. “The Romans know we are here. We must leave at once!” He then directed several of his men to light torches and follow him, the rest of the men making for the boats.  He stopped at the top of the landing and turned back to his men. “Burn everything you can and then head for the boats.”

Proculus watched in horror as he saw men scrambling from the mill bearing torches. These were not heading to the boats with the rest. Rather they were heading towards the nearest structures.

“Dear gods,” he said quietly. Buildings were quickly alight, and flaming arrows could be seen flying sporadically over the rooftops to nearby buildings.

“Gladius...draw!”
the Cohort Commander shouted. The Romans rushed towards their foe, hoping to cut off their escape, but it was too late to catch most of them. Only a small handful was too slow leaving the mill, and these were quickly cut down by legionaries. They watched helpless, as the rebels bearing torches rushed to where the boats had already started their journey down the river. People were running amok, panic-stricken as their city burned.

“Artorius take your men and clear the landing!” Macro ordered as the Second Century stormed the mill. The Decanus nodded and then signaled for his men to follow him. They raced up a flight of steps that led to a small balcony with a door off to the left side. As he went to kick in the door, it was hurriedly opened from the inside, a half dozen rebels seeking to escape. So great was their haste that they ran into the group of legionaries before they were aware of their peril. Magnus slammed his shield into one man, sending him screaming over the short railing, his head smashed to bloodied pieces on the cobblestones below. Decimus pinned one rebel against the wall, stabbing him in the leg before knocking him senseless with the pommel of his gladius.

As the rest fled back into the building, Artorius stabbed one through the back, stumbling to the floor as the rebel feel screaming in pain.
Carbo and Valens leapt over him, continuing the pursuit. By the time the Decanus regained his footing and caught up to his men, they had already slain the remaining rebels. He looked down below and saw a section of legionaries rushing in through the far door.

“They’ve all buggered off!” Sergeant Ostorius shouted from down below. “You catch any survivors?” Artorius turned back to Decimus, who nodded affirmatively.

“We got one,” he replied with a sinister grin.

“Start forming these people up, and get these damn fires out!” Macro shouted to his men.

“What of the rebels?” Flaccus asked.

“They’re gone, it’s too late to do anything about them,” Macro replied. “Besides, we do not even know where they may be headed.”

“Actually we do,” Artorius replied as he walked up with a wounded prisoner in tow. The rebel had been stabbed in the leg and could scarcely walk. Artorius had settled for dragging the man by his matted hair. “This fellow here claims to know where they are headed.”

“Does he now?” Macro asked, gazing in contempt at the pathetic creature.

“Yes sir, yes sir!” the man spoke frantically, his hands clutching at his hair, his injured leg dragging behind him, useless. “I can tell you where all of them have gone. There is a Roman estate not forty miles from here. I’m sure you know of it...” The rest of his words trailed off in the Centurion’s mind as he closed his eyes in realization.

“What is it, Sir?” Artorius asked as Macro took a deep breath.

“We are in trouble,” he replied, turning to find Proculus.
Artorius’ eyes grew wide in realization. “Bring that wretch with you!” Macro called over his shoulder. He dragged the screeching man behind him as a plan formulated in Artorius’ mind. He just hoped his Cohort Commander would be of a state of mind to hear it.

Heracles breathed a sigh of relief as the glow
of the burning city faded in the distance. The current of the river picked up significantly, and he knew they would reach their destination by dawn. He smiled sinisterly at the thought. All the Romans had done was force him to expedite his departure from Lugdunum. He fancied himself that they had given the residents a fitting farewell gift. It would take days for the Romans to put the fires out, and days were all they needed. That would give them time to rest and regroup before moving on. There were numerous mountain tribes that he could hope to enlist between there and Arelate, though he dared not go as far south as Massila. That place was crawling with Roman troops. But all that would come later. For now he simply wished to enjoy the night, the ride along the river Rhodanus, and his thoughts of plunder and revenge.

“What have I done?” he heard Kiana ask in a low voice that she thought no one could hear. Heracles opened one eye and appraised the young girl in the moonlight. She was wrapped in her cloak, the hood pulled over her head. In spite of this, Heracles could still make out the glistening of a t
ear that streaked down her cheek. He closed his eyes once more and contemplated what to do with the child. With them having to abandon Lugdunum, she was of no more use to him…well, perhaps he would have a final use for her before she could be disposed of.

Tierney raced to the scene of the fire as quickly as she could. All along the river homes and shops burned. People were rushing from all over the city in order to help their fellow citizens, while the urban cohort sought to keep order and to prevent looting. She directed her gaze to over by the abandoned mill. A tanning shop nearby was burning and amongst those who fought against the flames she recognized the tunics of legionaries. As she walked closer, to where the heat started to make her face burn, there was a long row of hastily removed armor and weapons. There was no fighting left to do, and
they would have cooked in their metal armor. A group of five soldiers stood guard over the equipment.

“Legionary Felix,” Tierney started to ask, “have any of you seen him?”

“Felix,” one of the men contemplated. “Oh yeah, I think he’s from the Second. He should be over there, miss.” The man pointed over his shoulder to where groups of legionaries were attempting to chop and clear away burning timbers before they could spread the fire further. To the right men were jumping into the cold waters of the Rhodanus to try to cool their seared skin before rushing back into the fray.

Tierney looked around for something she could use to help.
Against the side of the mill was a rusted pry bar. She grabbed it and brushed away the cob webs as she raced over to help the legionaries that sought to save as much of the building as they could. The heat was unbearable as the flames threatened to engulf any who got too close. Tierney frantically pried a burning timber away from the unburned thatch roof. As the beam fell she stumbled away and caught her breath. As she turned her head to the right, her eyes met those of Legionary Felix, who was also regaining his composure before rushing back in. The young soldier at first thought to ask Tierney what she was doing there, but then realized the significance of her actions. He grimaced and nodded his approval. She returned the gesture and both rushed back into the searing hell.

Early the next morning Felix and Tierney sat against the wall of the mill, the scorched remains of the tannery holding their gaze. Both reeked of smoke, their clothing and faces blackened and sticky with sweat. Felix reached a filthy hand over and grabbed Tierney’s, which was equally grubby. She looked over at him, a tear in her eye.

“Kiana’s gone,” she said, causing Felix to stir.

“What do you mean gone?” he asked, his face full of concern for the young girl that he had taken to thinking of as a little sister.

“She was taken by them,” Tierney explained.

“She’s a hostage?” Felix rose up to a knee, grasping Tierney’s hand hard as she shook her head.

“Not in the way you are thinking,” she replied. “It is her mind and her soul that are held hostage by those bastards. She was corrupted by them, and I could not save her.”

“Well perhaps I can,” Felix replied earnestly. Tierney looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly do to save her sister. “I swear on my family’s honor that I will bring Kiana back to you!” Tierney reached up and embraced him hard as Sergeant Praxus strode quickly over to where the legionaries were resting.

“Grab your gear!” he shouted as soldiers started to stir and move over to where they had grounded their weapons and armor. “We’re moving out!”

Felix stood with Tierney still clutching her. He gave her a quick, but affectionate kiss and whispered into her ear, “I promise.” He then rushed over to join his companions as Sergeant Praxus informed them of the pending pursuit. Though he was exhausted from lack of sleep and the harrowing ordeal of the night before, Felix was grateful that he would be able to keep his oath to the woman he loved.

He came upon the rest of the Century, which was hurriedly grabbing enough equipment for the march. Men were rushing back with their packs, each man grabbing enough rations to sustain him for a few days and little else. As the Century started to make a semblance of a march formation Felix caught a glimpse of Sergeant Artorius slapping a prisoner across the face while Macro and Proculus interrogated him. When satisfied, Macro waved Artorius away, who rushed back to the barracks to grab his kit for the pending march.
As the Decanus walked away Felix watched as Centurion Proculus grabbed prisoner by the throat and stabbed him repeatedly in the belly. The man slumped to the ground, twitching in the throes of death as Proculus walked back inside the building. Centurion Macro signaled for his horse, which he guided over to where his Century was still forming up.