Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (5 page)

Chapter IV: A Sad Journey Home

As the days and weeks rolled by Artorius found that he was growing beyond what he had ever thought possible. His tunics hardly fit anymore; his strength and stamina, which was already savage, were now that of a warhorse. And yet he found himself mentally more relaxed and focused. The gymnasium provided an outlet for his aggression. In his encounters with women he had become more consciously aware of his brutal strength and veracity, and thereby less inclined to try and break them in half, as had been his habit previously. He still had a tendency to bite, though that was more out of habit than anything.
He was pondering such conquests when he strolled into the inn where the Principal officers and Centurions were housed. He was there for his monthly meeting with Statorius, the Century’s Tesserarius in charge of the duty rosters and guard details. He was surprised to find Decimus sitting in his chair at the table.

“Decimus, what are you doing here?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Optio Flaccus interrupted, walking down the hall with a folded note in his hand which he handed to the Decanus.

“What is this?”

“Proculus put out that we need to start rotating the men through on furlough,” Flaccus explained. “And since you and Magnus are both from the Ostia area, you two are going together. There’s a river barge leaving at dawn tomorrow; take it to Massila, where you will catch a transport ship heading to Ostia.”

“Home,”
Magnus mused. His pack was laid out on his bed as he stuffed it with everything he wanted to take with him. “How long’s it been?”

“Four years next month,” Artorius replied as he opened his trunk to see what he would need to take with him. There were extra tunics, socks, his razor, hygiene kit, and something he had not expected to find. At the bottom, covered in dust, was a silver medallion on a leather cord.
At first he did not know what it was. He grabbed the cord and held the medallion into the light. An image of the goddess Diana was engraved on one side. Artorius let out a sigh and closed his eyes as he remembered where it had come from.

“What’s that then?” Magnus asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Camilla gave this to me…a long time ago.” Indeed it had been six years since Camilla had given him the medallion. She had made him promise that he would wear it everywhere, to protect him from harm. It was a promise he had not kept. No sooner had he left Ostia that the medallion had ended up in his pack, forgotten. He was amazed that it had not been lost over the years.

“Camilla,” Magnus said, his brow furrowed in contemplation, “isn’t she that sultry twat you so thoroughly violated the last time we were in Rome?” Artorius gave a short laugh.

“That would be her,” he replied. “One of them anyway. She and I grew up together; she promised to wait for me…” his voice trailed off. Without another word, he absentmindedly shoved the medallion into his pack, wrapped up in a pair of his socks.

At length he and Magnus were finished packing. They each str
apped on their gladius and belt; armor and helmets would not be needed. Valens and Gavius opened the door to the flat, having just returned from a road repair detail.

“I know you weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to us,” Gavius chided with a grin.

“Shit Gavius, we’re only going to be gone a couple months,” Magnus replied, hefting his pack over his shoulder. “It will probably take a couple weeks to get home, a month of leave, and then probably another couple weeks to get back.”

“At which time I’ll be going on leave myself,” the young legionary replied. “I’ll be going with Legionary Felix.”

“I thought Felix was from Ravenna?” Magnus asked.

“He is,” Artorius replied before Gavius could answer. “But there is nothing there for him; not as long as he has a father who continues to
hate him.”

Radek could not
believe his ill fortune to still be alive. The socket where his left eye had once been was a putrid mass, the wounds to his back and leg from a Roman lance in a constant state of infection. He did not understand why he was not allowed to die like all the others who had come to the mines with him. Many had been in finer health than he, having not suffered such grievous wounds as his. These had mostly been young men, boys really, whose fathers had refused to pay their ransoms and had left them to die in the mines. And die they did, for not one of them could have fathomed the sheer torments they would be subjected to. His little plaything had not even lasted a few days. Radek had grabbed the boy so he could have his way with him in the dim cavern where they slept, only to find the boy was dead. Such had ruined his day. It was while he mused on his hard bunk that he saw the torches coming down the passage.

“It can’t
be time to go back already,” one slave whimpered in the dark. Radek rolled onto his side, away from the torchlight. He was beyond exhausted, his persistent cough continuing to grow worse. The butt of a spear jabbed him in the back, where his wounds from the battle at Augustodunum refused to heal.

“You!” the guard bark, “you’re coming with us.” Radek rolled off the boards and landed roughly on his feet.

“Come to put me out of my misery?” His remark led the guard to rapping him across the face with his spear.

“Move!” As they wandered down the narrow, dark corridor, they came to a place where the passages branched off. Radek instinctively started towards the right-hand passage when the guard jabbed in the back with the spear point.

“Other way,” he snapped, which confused the slave. Radek had only been down that passage once, and that was when he was brought to this accursed place. Slowly he made his way up the passage, his bad leg continuously cramping on him. A short flight of stone steps led to a door where a pair of guards stood posted. One forced open the heavy wooden door where Radek was suddenly blinded by the sunlight. He placed his hand over his face protectively. It had been months since he had last seen the sun and the brightness hurt his eye.

“Aren’t we a frightful sight,” a voice said. Heracles felt nauseated looking at Radek. The man was covered in sulfur burns, his beard and hair matted in knots, puss seeping from his multiple wounds and festering eye socket.

“Who the bloody piss are you?” Radek asked, still trying to shield his eye from the sun. He could not make out Heracles’ face, but his voice sounded familiar.

“A friend,” the Greek replied. “And now I’m your new master.” His face darkened at this last remark. This wretched shell of a man would serve him, even unto death.
Radek let out a sigh.

“Well any master is better than the mines,” he remarked, his sight slowly returning. He gave an evil grin as he at last recognized Heracles.

“I know you,” he said. The Greek nodded.

“That you do. Come, let us leave this place.” There were about a dozen other men that had been purchased by Heracles. He had paid less for the rest
combined than he had for Radek alone. This was not lost on the clerk as he and the foreman watched the rag-tag contingent walk down the slope towards their waiting wagon.

“What make you of that?” the clerk asked. “This man buys a dozen of our least shoddy slaves for market prices, and yet he pays as much for that one wretched c
reature as for the rest together.” The foreman folded his arms across the chest as a couple of slaves helped Radek into the wagon.

“Our silence has been bought,” he replied. “The slave Radek died of his injuries and lies in the burn pit with the rest of the damned.”

At long last the port of Ostia came into view. It had been more than six years since Artorius had last been home. There had not been time to get a letter to his father through the Imperial Post, so there would be no one to greet them at the docks.

“She hasn’t changed, has she?” Magnus asked, joining his friend on the bow of the ship. Artorius shook his head.

“Looks the same as when we left her,” he replied. Indeed the bustling port looked exactly like he remembered. Though he had been away for years, he knew he could still find his way home blindfolded.

The boat lurched into the slip with a jolt. There were only a handful of other passengers besides the two legionaries; the boat was mostly loaded with goods from Gaul to be sold in the Roman Forum. Artorius and Magnus hefted their packs and strolled down the ramp, their legs wobbly on land as they worked to get used to being on solid ground once more.

“Well I’m off to the textile mill to see if Dad’s in,” Magnus said. “Hopefully Oleg’s around; I haven’t seen him since we first joined the legions!”

“I’ll catch up with you in a day or so,” Artorius replied. “Father and Juliana will be quite surprised to see me, I think. If you get a chance, come up and see us.”

“Will do,” Magnus asserted with a nod. The two men clasped hands and each went on his way.

It was late afternoon and the market traffic was starting to wane slightly.
The crowds generally parted for the legionary, his red tunic, gladius, and pack giving away his identity. He was glad that his father lived outside of Ostia rather than in Rome, for legally he would not be allowed to enter the city armed as he was. He continued his way out of town along the paved road for a few miles until he came to an intersection. The road that ran perpendicular to his front was the Via Valeria. To the east it led to Rome; to the west it led to the coast, veering north and eventually taking travelers to Pisae, more than one hundred miles away. It was this way that Artorius went. A few miles later and he came upon a dirt road that curved up the hill that paralleled the main highway. He was now but a couple miles from home.

The sun cast its light over the eastern hills, bathing the area in a red glow. To his right Artorius saw Juliana’s old cottage. He did not know
if anyone even lived there now, but he saw a pair of figures-a man and woman from the looks of them-leaving the grounds and heading towards the road. The man carried a walking stick, and Artorius recognized him to be his father, Primus. He gave a laugh and walked towards the couple, his face beaming. He stopped a ways from them, his smile fading as he saw his father and Juliana’s demeanor. Both stared at the ground as they walked; an air of sadness about them.

“Father?” Artorius asked, causing Primus to start. He and Juliana both felt a mixture of emotions; whatever it was that saddened them still overwhelming, and yet the joy of seeing their son standing before them.

“Artorius!” Primus cried, dropping his walking stick and embracing his son hard. “You did not even let us know you were coming home!”

“There was no time,” Artorius replied. “I had just enough time to pack my things before I had to catch the boat.” He then embraced Juliana, his step-mother.
“But why the sad faces? Are you not pleased to see me?” Juliana looked down, the trace of a tear visible out of the corner of her eye. Primus was quick to explain.

“I am afraid I have some sad news, my son,” he said, placing a hand on Artorius’ shoulder. “It’s about Camilla.”

“What about her?” Artorius asked. “She married that rich boy-lover Marcellus all those years ago. I figured she’d still be living in high society.” Primus smiled sadly and patted his son on the shoulder before they continued their walk back towards their home. Juliana remained silent, holding her husband’s hand as they walked.