Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (9 page)

“That is enough for the day,” the Greek continued. “Remember what we went over regarding submissions and strikes from the top position.” He then clasped the hand of each of his students as they left. Artorius overheard them calling him
Master Delios.
The name Delios sounded familiar to him, but he was not sure from where. Then it dawned on him. He remembered where he knew the name from, and he also realized what it was he had witnessed.

“Artorius, good to see you,” Camillus remarked as he walked out of the room.

“Camillus,” Artorius acknowledged. “Nice mark you got there. I would hate to see what the other guy looked like!”

“Yeah, his hand did take quite a beating,” Camillus laughed.

“And strangely enough, Camillus won that match,” another man remarked, smacking the Signifier on the shoulder.

“I grew tired of getting hit, so I choked him out,” he replied with a casual shrug. Once the men had left, Artorius walked over to the instructor, who was wiping his face off with a towel.

“That was quite the display,” Artorius said. The Greek smiled at him.

“Romans love blood; they love spectacle,” he replied. “What they don’t love so much is the purity of man versus man combat; no tricks, no weapons. It is simply the skill of one man against another. You, on the other hand, look like one who has little use for spectacle.” Artorius folded his arms across his chest and nodded.

“Blood-letting for the simple purpose of blood-letting is pointless,” he remarked. “The mob loves blood. Whether it is from a gladiatorial fight, or a public execution; they always exhibit the same animalistic lust. I have no need for such things. I seek purity and strength through both the mind and body. It has been my passion in life to seek ultimate power. I know who you are; you are Delios, two-time winner of the Olympiad Pankration.”

“And I know you are,” Delios said with a smile. “You are Titus Artorius Justus, Legion Champion of the Twentieth Valeria and one of the most feared close-combat fighters ever to come from Rome. Yes, I do keep tabs on the more well-known
legionaries in our community. But tell me; are you as skilled without your weapons as you are with them?”

“Perhaps you can tell me,” Artorius replied, a smile crossing his face. Delios returned it and set his towel down.

“Pankration is an ancient form of combat. It is a conglomeration of the words
pan
and
kratos
, and it literally means
all power
. When you face a man with your bare hands, when you seek to find pankration, it becomes the quest for ultimate power.” Artorius found himself utterly enthralled with what Delios was saying. He then realized that pankration was the perfect complement to his physical strength. Without another word being said, both men stepped onto the mat and faced each other.

Unarmed combat w
as a basic skill taught to all legionaries, though emphasis was placed on it being used as a last resort, and only until one could retrieve his weapons. Artorius knew that his training paled in comparison to what Delios had spent as a life study. Nevertheless, he settled into a fighting stance similar to that which he would with weapons. The most crucial difference was that he kept his hands up by his head in order to block against strikes. He had wrestled with bulls as a young man, and he knew that he held a dominating strength advantage over his opponent. He understood that Delios recognized this as well.

As both men advanced on each other, Delios started throwing rapid punches at Artorius. As blows bounced off his hands and forearms, Delios landed a hard kick to the outside of Artorius’ thigh. This caused Artorius to panic slightly and he shot in to take out Delios’ legs. This is exactly what the Greek expected. Artorius was surprised that Delios actually let him take him to the ground, where he wrapped his legs around the Roman’s waist; a move which isolated Artorius and hindered his movement. In spite of being immobilized, he proceeded to hammer his fist into the man’s side and head, all the while Delios remained calm, trying to get a grip on one of Artorius’ arms. Artorius realized what Delios was attempting, and immediately ceased in his blows. He found himself wrestling with the Greek, and strangely enough found that though on top he was on the defensive. The Greek was a master of leverage, something which negated an enormous amount of Artorius’ strength. As Delios started to pry one of the Roman’s arms loose, Artorius would drop his fist or elbow into his face. Delios then moved his head to one side, causing Artorius to drive his fist into the mat. With lightening reflexes, Delios let the other arm go and grabbed onto the one Artorius had punched with. He then wrapped both his legs around the arm as well, arching his back and driving Artorius onto his. The young Roman was shocked to find himself on his back, his arm stretched out in Delios’ grip. He felt his elbow joint start to hyperextend; his shoulder joint being pried apart as well. He started slapping his free hand onto the mat in the same manner the defeated combatant had earlier. Delios released his arm and both men stood up. Delios had fresh bruises on his face and his ribs were red and battered.

“You are incredibly strong,” Delios observed, “not to mention naturally talented. You have decent wrestling skills, and you are a respectable striker on the ground. However, you don’t seem to know the first thing about submissions, and your striking on the feet is rudimentary at best. Would you like to learn these skills, as well as others?”

“I would be honored,” Artorius replied with a nod. In truth he deeply respected this man. It was ironic that most Greeks were known for their art and philosophy. The warrior class of old Sparta was thought to be dead, especially after the combined Greek and Macedonian armies had been utterly routed by Rome more than two hundred years before. Many forgot the purity and masculine virtues portrayed in the games of the Olympiad. Physical contests such as wrestling and pankration were shunned by the average Romans in favor of sport that guaranteed a greater quantity of blood, if not skill.

It became routine for Artorius during their tenure in Lugdunum. When not performing his duties as a Legionary and Decanus, he could be found in the gymnasium, strengthening his body through the exertion of heavy lifting, or learning to better utilize and channel his strength through pankration. Delios became his mentor in much the same way that Vitruvius had been when he learned close-combat and weapons drill. In time he felt he would achieve
all power
. That spring the Cohort held two tournaments; one with weapons in similar fashion as the Legion Championship, and one in unarmed combat of pankration. Artorius elected not to take part in the weapons tournament, seeing as how he was the current Legion Champion and should only defend his title when the entire Legion was present. He was proud to watch as Magnus tore through the competition, becoming the champion for the Third Cohort. His friend had become a force to be reckoned with, and Artorius hoped that if any man did ever take his title from him, that it would be the Norseman.

In a surprise move, Artorius also abstained from the pankration tournament, preferri
ng instead to train and mentor soldiers within his Century who wished to compete. Legionary Felix Spurius was one of these men. He became a mainstay at the gymnasium, and pankration became his passion. He would finish third in the tournament, behind Optio Castor of the First Century. Both men would be bested by Camillus, the tournament winner. Many were shocked to watch the mild-mannered Signifier manhandle his opponents like they were bags of straw. Spurius gave Camillus the most trouble, though even he was forced to submit when the Signifier sunk a deep choke hold on him from his own back. Castor would fall much quicker in the final match, with Camillus knocking him to the ground and then landing a series of unanswered punches which forced a stoppage of the contest.

The l
egionaries appreciated both styles of competition. Close-combat with gladius and shield would always be popular, seeing as how it was their mainstay and unique from the vulgar displays in gladiatorial matches. They also grew to love the purity of the pankration contests as well. Men would compete with each other in both forms of combat, often-times one man besting the other at one form, but falling short with the other. Proculus and the Centurions took note of this. Though bruises and other minor injuries were moderately increased, the sense of competition was good for the men’s morale, and also kept their individual fighting skills well-honed.

Time passed as it did for the soldiers of the Third Cohort. Lugdunum had indeed proven to be quite the respite for them. They had lived comfortably in the embrace of civilization, away from the hard life of the frontier. While Proculus and the Centurions had enforced rigid training regimes to keep the men fit and busy, the sense of leisure could not be overlooked. Artorius spent much of his time at the gymnasium, which ironically was just a few blocks down from their flats and the Temple of Bacchus. There he continued to pursue his quest for physical perfection, driven by the desire for a godlike physique and power that would shame Hercules. He was always joined by Magnus as well as Centurion Vitruvius, two men who shared the same passion. In time, they grew in size and strength. All three were already fearsome to gaze upon, yet now they looked even harder, to the point that the idealized statues of the gods paled in comparison to them. His other passion, the perfection of pankration, had increased his fighting prowess far more than he had figured initially. He was more limber and agile because of his training, and in weapons drill he had become even more dangerous, much to the dismay of those who hoped to one day take the title of Legion Champion from him. It seemed ironic that even after Magnus won the Cohort Champion tournament that he had yet to face his Decanus. There would come a time for them to face each other, but not yet.

Proculus stuffed the sealed letter underneath the cord that bound the parcel together. Nothing would have pleased him more than to take the package to the estate himself; however there was a banquet with the provisional governor that he was required to attend. He let out a sigh and walked out into the foyer, the parcel tucked under his arm.
The modified Principia was always a bustle of activity. He glanced around and saw Macro talking to one of his Decanii. The young man looked familiar to Proculus and then he remembered; it was Sergeant Artorius, who had been decorated for valor during the battle against the Turani in the mountains outside of Augusta Raurica. Better still; Proculus remembered that he was also able to ride a horse.

“Macro!” he shouted as he walked up to the men who immediately ceased in their conversation. Artorius took a respectful step backwards and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What have you got there?” the junior Centurion asked.

“A parcel and some letters that I need delivered to my estate in the country. I need someone who can ride a horse to deliver them for me.”

“I see,” Macro replied, guessing at his Cohort Commander’s intent. He folded his arms and looked over his shoulder at the Decanus. “Artorius, you can ride can’t you?”

“I can, Sir,” he replied with a grin. Macro of course knew the answer.

“Here’s your man,” Macro said, facing Proculus once more. The senior Centurion stuffed the parcel into Artorius’ arms.

“Excellent! Go down to the stables and requisition yourself a horse. I’ll send an order to the Master of Horse to let him know that you will be doing this for me quite often and will require your own mount.” Relieved, Proculus immediately turned and walked back to his office. He still had to prepare for the function that evening and his wife had not even arrived yet.

“Looks like you just got yourself an additional duty,” Macro stated once Proculus had left.

“Hmm, well I would like to get out of the city every once in a while and see a bit of the country,” Artorius replied. Macro grinned and snorted.