Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (27 page)

“The barges are coming along on schedule,” Chief Tribune Strabo reported.

“Very good,” Severus observed. “And how about the training regimes for the upcoming campaign?”

“With our casualties having been so light, we’ve had only a handful of recruits and replacements to train up,” answered Master Centurion Flavius.

The three men sat alone in Severus’ quarters. All lounged comfortably, sampling dates and nuts
, and sipping on wine brought from Rome. Rank did have its privileges.

Severus sat up briefly and stretched out his lower back and neck. He was slowly starting to feel
the effects that age and years of campaigning were having. Though he looked young in appearance, his body told him otherwise on a daily basis. Yet he could not allow himself to sit back and watch the battles unfold before him without his direct involvement. His habit of leading from the front was something he had picked up from campaigning with Tiberius. The Emperor often said that he learned to do this from Severus, but the old general wasn’t so sure. He took a deep breath at the thought of how many years ago that was. He hoped this would be his last campaign. Germanicus had become a fine commanding general, and there was little more Severus could teach him. He had, therefore, written to the Emperor, asking that he, at last, be allowed to retire once Arminius was destroyed. He looked over at his two subordinate commanders.

Strabo was developing into a fine officer. His tactical decisions were usually sound, his care for the men genuine, and he was not afraid to get his hands a little bit dirty or bloody as was often the case. Like most
chief tribunes, he was a young man of the Senatorial class, destined to become a legion commander himself someday. Of course, there would be years of politicking and other less exciting, albeit necessary, positions to fill along the way. Once his required time as chief tribune was complete, it would be years before he would wear the uniform again. Strabo was not looking forward to it and, therefore, relished his time with the legion.

Flavius was everything one would expect a
master centurion to be. A professional soldier with over thirty years in the army, he was hard as iron both in body and spirit. Like all centurions, he had come up from the ranks, slowly making the climb up the ladder of the centurionate, until he was finally awarded promotion to the First Cohort. Five years before, he had been selected to be its commander. Command of the First Cohort was not difficult. All soldiers within the First were handpicked veterans who required little to no direct supervision. Its centurions were the elite of any legion and were there for technical and tactical advice, along with directly leading their men in battle. The centurion primus pilus or “First Spear” was the elite of this class of fighting men. He truly was a
master centurion
. Beneath his hard exterior, Flavius was a compassionate man, both towards his men as well as his own family. Many soldiers within the legion found it hard to believe he even had a family. Yet he did have an adoring wife and two grown sons, one of whom was serving with legions in the east. His other son had taken the path of poet, historian, and philosopher. To many this seemed like an odd path for the son of a master centurion to take. And yet, if one were to look into his private quarters, they would find numerous copies of his son’s works sitting on Flavius’ desk and bookcases. He was equally proud of both of his sons and appreciated their diverse paths in life.

The First Cohort was
, in many ways, its own entity apart from the rest of the legion. The soldiers lived in oversized barracks that were separate from the other cohorts, and their centurions lived in two-story houses instead of one room barracks. Their sole purpose was to train to fight, so aside from those tasked to supervise the armories and other shops, they had little interaction with the rest of the legion. Flavius had, therefore, paid little heed to the growing troubles that led to the mutiny two years before. The First Cohort had been performing well. From what he had gathered, there were no issues concerning duty performance from the other cohorts, so he had let things develop without any real interaction with the other cohorts. What a fool he had thought himself when all of the allegations became known! He had considered himself directly responsible for the disaster and asked that he be relieved of his position and forced into retirement. Both Severus and Germanicus vehemently denied his request. Though they acknowledged he needed to keep a tighter rein on the centurions in other cohorts, he was an officer with too much tactical experience and could not be spared. Besides, his record was exemplary. Flavius had since taken a closer look into the workings of all the centuries within the legion, especially since young and less experienced soldiers filled many of the vacancies left by the dismissed officers. He especially kept a close working relationship with the cohort commanders.

“Well, I’m sure you’re both wanting to know what Germanicus has in mind for the next campaign; the specifics I mean,” Severus said. He knew practically the entire army had figured out that the building of boats and costal barges meant a deep waterborne strike into the heart of Germania. Barbarian scouts had seen the work going on and probably figured this out as well.

“We are all pretty sure
what
we will be doing, sir, the only question is
where
,” Strabo replied.

“I’m sure that’s the question on Arminius’ mind
,” Flavius said with a shrug.

Severus smiled. “Our boat building operations are no secret to anyone, nor do we want them to be. I daresay our little project will draw some of the more, shall we say
,
adventurous
barbarians to try to disrupt them. That is why one of our tasks will be to set up ambush sites along known avenues of approach to the docks.” He grabbed a handful of nuts and downed some wine before continuing.

“The main reason for an amphibious assault is
that there will be little the Germans will be able to do to stop us from going wherever we please once we depart. A lengthy ground movement will only elicit ambushes and skirmishes along the way. If we move by water, they will be able to do little more than throw some harassing skirmishers and slingers our way. And we’ll use scorpions to keep them at bay. An amphibious strike deep into the heart of Germania will upset most of the tribes who have felt little of the shock of this war. None will consider themselves safe anymore, and Arminius will have to fight us in a major battle. Otherwise, he will be finished. He cannot afford to lose face in front of his warriors, and avoiding battle with us in the very heart of their land will cause just that. I believe Arminius is rattled after his defeat at the Ahenobarbi bridges. However, our victory was marred by the constant disasters and complete communications breakdown with the Fifth and Twenty-First Legions. I accept
full responsibility for this, and I assure you it will not happen again.”

“So where
, exactly, are we going, sir?” Strabo asked.

“That I don’t know,” Severus answered. “I’m certain we will find out soon enough. Germanicus is scheduled to arrive here in the next couple
of weeks to check on us and our progress. He has told me he will divulge his entire plan at that time.”

Just then there was a knock at the door and a sentry stepped in. “Excuse me
, sir, but Commander Flavus from the auxiliary corps is here to see you.”

“Ah, very good
, send him in,” Severus answered, standing up. A big German was ushered in. He was wearing a leather cuirass and carried a legionary helmet under his arm. While most barbarian auxiliaries maintained their traditional non-standards of grooming, Flavus kept his hair cropped short and was clean-shaven. A patch covered his left eye, where a hideous scar ran from his eye to his ear.

“Who is this?” Strabo whispered to Flavius.

“Arminius’ brother,” Flavius replied. Strabo looked at him surprised.

Flavius just smiled.
“Don’t worry,” the master centurion consoled, “Flavus has repeatedly proven his loyalty to Rome, I mean
really
proven his loyalty. He is an asset that will help us to draw out Arminius.”

“Please, come a
nd join us,” Severus said, motioning Flavus to the couches. He handed him a goblet of wine.

“Thank you, I
am
thirsty from my ride,” the German said, with only the slightest hint of an accent in his voice. He drained the goblet, unbuckled his cuirass and set it in a corner, after which he refilled his goblet.

Strabo and Flavius stood, and Flavus extended his hand to each of them.

“This is Gaius Strabo, Chief Tribune,” Severus said as Flavus took his hand.

Strabo still looked puzzled and troubled.

“And this is Flavius Quietus, Master Centurion.”

“A pleasure,” Flavus said as they returned to their couches.

“So tell me, my friend, what news from across the Rhine do you have for us?” Severus asked.

“My brother is
under a lot of pressure, and it is getting to him. The war chiefs are united in the opinion that Arminius is growing soft and needs to exercise some decisive authority quickly or else he may be replaced. Our uncle, Ingiomerus is at the lead of this. He does not want to be supreme war chief, though. He simply wants to watch Arminius smash us into dust like he did Varus.”

“You say
us,
but is this not your own family we are fighting?” Strabo asked.

“Arminius may be my brother, but he has betrayed me, just as he betrayed you. We both swore an oath to serve
Rome. I valued my oath, he did not. He has brought my former tribe nothing but misery and despair. They talk of glory and fame to be had in battle, yet there is nothing tangible in this. Rome has been good to me,
very
good in fact.” He took a pull off his wine. “I have a home. My family is safe and well taken care of. My children have a future. The children of Arminius will have no future.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Severus said.

“What do you mean?” Flavus asked.

“As you know, Segestes, your brother’s father-in-law, has also remained loyal to
Rome. So loyal that Arminius laid siege to his lands. Segestes asked for our help. Germanicus did not have the forces necessary to save his lands. However, he managed to liberate both Segestes and his daughter, who is pregnant with Arminius’ child.”

“Where are the
y now?” Flavus asked, excited by the news.

“On their way here,” Severus answered. “They should be here within a couple of weeks. Afterwards
, they will journey back to Rome. At least one of Arminius’ children will have a future, a future devoid of any knowledge of who his father was. And if simply his prestige as a war chief is not enough to convince Arminius to fight us, the fact that we have his wife and unborn child should.”

Flavus smiled, stood up, and raised his wine goblet. “My friends, to the future of all children who grow up free of the influence of Arminius and his kind!”

“I thought you were their kind,” Strabo muttered under his breath as he took a swallow of wine.

“Easy there,
tribune,” Flavius said, laughing as he took a drink off his own goblet.

Chapter XV: Ambushing the Raiders

***

The century was on ambush duty. Artorius dreaded the task, simply because it was cold enough when they were moving about during the daytime. Having to sit in one spot all night was tedious and miserable. They had pulled three ambushes already and failed to come into contact. Centurion Dominus and the Fourth Century would be with them this night. Artorius stepped into his cold weather leggings, cringing at the idea of spending all night lying in the cold snow.

“Alright, let’s go!” Flaccus said, sticking his head in the door. He was walking down to all the section rooms, getting everyone to expedite their move.

Quickly, everyone was outside, the Second and Fourth Centuries ready to move out. It was already dark by the time they left the fortress. Torches were completely forbidden, so their pace moved at an absolute crawl. The ground was covered in hard packed snow, and it crunched under the soldiers’ feet. It was a cloudy night, and there was no illumination by which to see. After what felt like hours, though in reality it had been much less, they arrived at their assigned position. Artorius had no idea how Macro knew where to go. Each century formed up on line on either side of the road. There was a small embankment on the one side where the Fourth Century was and a grove of trees where the Second Century was placed. The Second Century carried their javelins, which they would use to drive the enemy towards the Fourth Century who would attack them from behind. Cavalry were in a reserve location, waiting to cut off any escape attempts. A cornicen had been assigned to the ambush element in order to relay the signal.

Artorius lay freezing on the ground, his shield and javelin held close. His cloak was wrapped around him, but was unfastened in case he needed to throw it off in a hurry. It seemed to do him little good anyway. He lay shivering in
the snow and time seemed to stand still. He could just make out Magnus and Decimus on either side of him. They seemed to be faring better in the cold. Magnus, especially, being more used to the climate.

After what seemed like an eternity, he saw the faint glow of the predawn. It was at this time the barbarians were thought most likely to strike. Artorius scoffed at the
idea. They were still licking their wounds from the hammering they received at Ahenobarbi! As he thought this, he saw a flicker in the distance off to his right. He thought he must be dreaming, but then felt a stir coming from amongst the ranks. Everyone else had seen it as well. Several more flickers could be seen moving along the path. The barbarians were coming! They would use torches to guide their way to a staging point, just before the docks would come into sight. Then they would extinguish all light and attack just as the rising sun shone in the eyes of the Roman defenders. Or so was their intent.

Artorius lay low as he saw the line of torches moving laterally towards them. It was hard to tell just how many there were, a couple of hundred maybe. Raiding parties like this relied on speed and stealth rather than numbers. He held his breath as the first barbarians passed by him, about
seven meters in front. It was difficult to see them, and he was certain he and his companions could not be seen, though subconsciously he was convinced he would be spotted at any moment. More raiders passed in front of him. They were fairly silent except for the occasional grunt, grumble, or muffled curse. His own breath was coming rapidly. It wouldn’t be long.

“Up! Javelins
…throw!”
Macro shouted.

The
cornicen sounded his horn as the entire century rose up, the stiffness and cold forgotten. Artorius let his cloak fall as he raised his javelin and threw it towards a point of light.

Screams of surprise and pain were heard
. The barbarians not hit by the javelin storm turned to face them. Some panicked outright and ran. As the brave charged towards Artorius and the Second Century, the legionaries of the Fourth Century rose up silently, drew their swords, and attacked the raiders from behind. Only when they were ready to strike did they make a sound. More screams could be heard as the barbarians were slaughtered from behind by their unseen foe. As they turned to face this new threat, the Second Century attacked, with Magnus calling upon Thor.

Artorius saw one German directly to his front, carrying a club and shield. The man had just turned his head to see what was happening to his friends behind him when Artorius slammed his shield boss into his face. The German was knocked to the ground, senseless. A quick stab from his gladius into the man’s heart ended it. There was the familiar feeling of warm blood spurting onto his hand. With his hand practically numb from the cold, the warming sensation felt good
, and he held his hand in place for a moment. As Artorius withdrew his gladius, the remaining Germans had panicked and were running back the way they had come, dropping their torches as they did so. The sun was starting to rise and was shining in their faces. They were unable to make out the line of cavalry that was riding towards them, cutting off their escape. Only a small handful managed to abscond the slaughter.

Artorius wiped the blade of his gladius off in the snow. His hand was still covered in warm blood, which he attempted to wash off in the snow as well. The adrenaline rush from the skirmish was starting to fade, and he was once again growing cold. He searched for his javelin and was shocked when he saw one buried directly in the eye socket of a slain warrior. He had no way of knowing whether or not it was the one he had thrown, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. He had, after all, thrown it directly at the torchlight he had seen. Regardless, he tore the javelin loose and walked back to where he dropped his cloak.

“Everyone alright?” Macro called down the ranks.

Artorius felt Statorius smack him across the back.

“Artorius, you alright?” the
decanus asked.

“I’m fine,” Artorius answered as he draped his cloak over his shoulders.

Statorius walked up to all of his men, checking each in turn before reporting to the centurion that everyone was alright. No losses had been suffered by either century. It had been a textbook ambush and had been executed perfectly. A detail was sent to cut the throats of all the barbarians still alive. The corpses were left where they had fallen. As they fell back into formation and marched back to the fortress, Artorius longed for the warmth of the bathhouse. Along with the warmth for his body, he would be glad to thoroughly wash his hand, where the blood had cooled and started to dry and flake off.

Proculus was waiting for them at
the gate as they marched in. The cavalry had already reported back the success of the ambush.

He clasped the hands of both Macro and Dominus. “Well done
.”

The
centurions all walked towards the cohort commander’s quarters while options briefed the legionaries and dismissed them. Valgus had not been replaced yet, so Flaccus was filling in temporarily.

“Sergeant Vitruvius!” he called out.

Vitruvius stepped out from the formation and stood in front of the tesserarius. After a few whispered words between the men, Flaccus turned and left. Vitruvius then faced the century.

“
Well done, men,” he said. “Go get yourselves warmed up and then check and clean your equipment. All section leaders will report to me once everything has been inspected and stowed. After that, you are released for the day.”

This elicited a serie
s of shouts and cheers from the century.

“What was that all about?” Gavius asked as the section headed towards their billets.

“I don’t know,” Praxus answered. “It does seem a bit odd that Flaccus would defer to Vitruvius to address the century.”

“I wonder if this means Flaccus is not to become our next
optio,” Artorius wondered aloud.

Proculus handed Dominus and Macro each a goblet of warm cider. Macro clutched the goblet, allowing its warmth to penetrate his frozen hands.

“A classic
and well executed
ambush,” Proculus said as he raised his goblet to his fellow centurions. “How many of the bastards did you net?”

“We counted approximately sixty corpses in the immediate vicinity of
the ambush,” Macro answered as he took a seat.

Dominus greedily downed his beverage and
waved a servant over to refill his cup.

“The cavalry reported an additional thirty slain during the pursuit,” Proculus added, leaning back in his own chair.

“Well, that’s almost half of what we estimate had been there,” Dominus remarked.

“More importantly, neither of you suffered any losses,” Proculus observed. “I know we took a risk in sending you out like that, especially at night and under these conditions. It was a difficult task, and you performed it well.”

“I wouldn’t say it was difficult,” Dominus answered. “I just froze my backside off is all; and maybe my front side, too, from all that laying in the snow and slushy mud”.

“Doubtless the barbarians will be ready for us next time,” Macro remarked.

“I kind of doubt it,” Proculus replied. “These roving bands lack central organization. Given the careless and haphazard nature of their attempted raids, I don’t think Arminius ordered them to cross the river to try and harass our boat making efforts. He knows the risks and the potential loss of life. It’s just not a productive use of his resources. No, these men acted on their own, and it cost them. I highly doubt they will be back anytime soon. Besides, the ramparts leading down to the docks have been completed, so our boats are relatively safe. Therefore, all future ambushes are cancelled.”

Dominus and Macro both breathed sighs of relief.

Proculus smiled at their reaction. “I didn’t think you men would be too terribly disappointed. I also want you to suspend all work details for the next two days. Let your men know they performed well, and that they deserve a couple of days off.”

“That’ll give them a chance to get the feeling back in their limbs,” Macro observed as he tried to work some feeling back into his own hands.

“You know, if the Germans were smart, they would try and draw us out during the winter,” Dominus remarked.

Proculus frowned and nodded at the remark.

“Too true,” he replied. “They are much better suited to this climate than we are. Even our men who’ve been on the frontier for a long time have never gotten used to this accursed weather. Thing is, they lack any kind of supply
system. There is no way they could keep any sizable army fed and supplied during the winter months.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Macro replied as he raised his glass.

“So have you chosen your new optio?” Proculus asked, changing the subject.

“I have,” Macro answered. “I have a
sergeant, who’s also my chief weapons instructor.”

Dominus started to laugh.
“You’re talking about Vitruvius, aren’t you?”

“He’s been trying to avoid getting promoted for years,” Macro continued. “
But
I’m not giving him a choice this time. He’s declined promotion enough times to satisfy his vanity. I feel it is time he started stepping up and we take a hard look at him in the future for further promotion.”

“You think he’ll be ready for the
centurionate that quickly?” Proculus asked with a raised eyebrow.

Macro took another drink before answering.
“I dare say he’s ready for it now. I think once Vitruvius stops obsessing about his role as chief weapons instructor, he will rise through the ranks rather quickly. I think he may even become a cohort commander one day.”

“Quite lofty expectations for one of your men who is still a decanus,” Dominus remarked.

“You know Vitruvius by reputation only,” Macro answered
, “if you knew him as I do, you would not hesitate to agree.”

“
That settles it then,” Proculus said, setting his cup down. “Get the orders drawn up and start putting him to work where he belongs.”

“Already been done,” Macro responded.

“I guess they won’t be attempting to mess with our boats anytime soon,” Magnus said as he and Artorius walked into the barracks. The bathhouse had been a blessing and thoroughly rejuvenated them, though Artorius still made a mad dash for his bunk and curled up under the warm blankets.