Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (42 page)

The cohort commander looked over his shoulder at Flavius whose arms were crossed, an amused look
on his face. “Only that Sacrovir has already posted the fight in every betting house in the city,” the master centurion answered. “Thankfully, Severus has not made his way to any of these yet. If he did before we got to him, he’d have you skinned! Or rather, he’d have
me
skin you.”

Macro swallowed hard at the statement, knowing full
well that Flavius meant every word of it. Never mind that Camillus and the others had acted on their own. As a centurion, Macro was, ultimately, responsible for the actions of his men.

After a few seconds, Proculus
waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’ve got a few talents I can wager,” he said. “Those imbeciles have actually posted five-to-one odds
against
Vitruvius. I figure with a healthy profit at the expense of the money lenders, I can finally build my wife, Vorena, that villa on top of Esquiline Hill she’s always wanted. She’s tired of living in the little hovel we have now.”

Macro snorted at the remark. Given a
centurion pilus prior’s salary, he knew that Proculus and his wife lived in anything but a hovel. Just then they heard footsteps echoing in the corridor. Without a word, and with his arms still crossed, Flavius left the room. The two centurions could just overhear his words as he confronted the legion’s commanding legate in the hallway.

“Sir, how would you like to make a
little bit
of money while we’re here?”

Severus had readily accepted the offer made by his men. In fact, as word of the proposed bet spread its way up the chain-of-command, every senior officer with or without personal knowledge of Optio Vitruvius added their sums to the ever growing wager. ‘
The Legionary versus the Gladiator’,
became the topic of discussion amongst the social elite. As a mark of professional pride, most military veterans placed their wagers with Vitruvius, while others of a less savory nature placed theirs with the unknown gladiator. Rumor had it the Emperor himself had even placed a large wager on the weapons instructor. This was, of course, preposterous, given Tiberius’ loathing of gambling and of gladiators.

On the eve of the fight, Vitruvius stood on a balcony overlooking the city and the Circus Maximus. He seemed lost in thought.

“Thinking about tomorrow’s match?” Macro asked, walking up to him.

“Just thinking about why in Hades I’m even doing this,” Vitruvius answered, gazing down at the
Tiber River.

“Because you have the reputation for being the best there ever was, Vitruvius,” Macro answered. “You’ve never been defeated in battle; no one has ever even come close to hurting you.”

Vitruvius turned to face his friend and centurion.

“‘The perfect killer.’ That’s what
the men call me,” he replied.

“Quite the reputation to live up to,” Macro observed.

“Yes,” Vitruvius said as he turned his gaze back towards the city. “And it would seem that it’s all I’ll ever be known for.”

Macro placed a hand on his
optio’s shoulder.

“If I bought you a vat of
wine and a couple of comely young courtesans, would you lighten up?” he asked, laughing.

Vitruvius found he was unable to control his own laughter.
“Perhaps just a goblet…large, and one courtesan,” he replied. “Can’t risk wearing myself out
completely
before tomorrow.”

Artorius sat at
a table, a goblet of wine in his hand. He was leaning forward, staring off into space as soldiers drank and told war stories
with the locals of the city. Many of them had never even been to Rome, the heart of the Empire they had all risked their lives to preserve. A gentle breeze blew in from the Tiber. It felt good. It was a far cry from the blood-soaked plains
of Idistaviso or the smoldering hell of the Angrivarii fortress. Artorius took a deep breath, slightly shuddering at the memories. He did not even take notice as Magnus took a seat across from him, a local lady of pleasure settling comfortably on his lap.

“Hey Artorius, you would not believe what these ladies are willing to do, for only a couple of copper coins no less!”

“Anything for my brave boys,” the young woman replied, her hands in Magnus’ blond
hair, gently biting on his ear.

Magnus
was cheerfully
on his way to becoming drunk and was laughing incessantly. “Come on man, you’ve got to go and get yourself one before they’re all taken. Valens is trying to get a couple to go swimming naked with him in the Tiber.”

“Not tonight,” Artorius said as he took a drink of wine, continuing to stare off into the direction of the river.

Magnus was suddenly aware of his friend’s need to talk and immediately sobered up. He slapped his lady friend on the rump and sent her off.

“I’ll be waiting for you back in my room,” she whispered into his ear.

Magnus motioned for her to leave at once, before turning his attention back to his friend.

“So what’s on your mind?” he asked. “Thinking about Vitruvius and his fight with the gladiator tomorrow?”

“What?” Artorius looked surprised. “No, I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Didn’t think so. So what is it?” Magnus persisted.

Artorius let out an audible sigh. “You remember when we first joined the army and I gave you my reasons for joining?”

“Sure,” Magnus shrugged. “You joined to avenge your murdered brother. You told me after Idistaviso you felt like you had done that. So where’s the problem?”

“That’s just it,” Artorius threw his hands up. “I’ve done what I went there to do. I avenged my brother. I killed gods know how many of those barbarian bastards over the last two years. So now that I’ve gotten justice and revenge, I’m not sure what else to do. Don’t you understand…avenging my brother was all I ever thought about from the time I was a boy. Now that it’s over, I’m not sure what else to do with my life.”

Magnus leaned forward.
“You see those men over there?” he asked, pointing to where Decimus and Praxus were becoming friendly with a couple of local ladies. A pair of merchants continued to buy them wine while tossing dice with Decimus. In the distance, they could just make out Valens running towards the riverbank, tearing his clothes off, and yelling enthusiastically as he tossed them aside, a pair of scantily clad women close behind him. “What do you see when you look at them?”

“I see Praxus negotiating a fare with his lady-in-waiting and Decimus about to lose his ass to those two merchants who aren’t as drunk as they appear,” Artorius retorted.

What they didn’t notice was Decimus slipping something into the merchants’ drinks.

Magnus raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Well, fair enough,” he conceded. “I mean when you
really
look at them what do you see?”

Artorius shrugged and shook his head.

“I’ll tell you what I see,” Magnus continued. “I see
Rome
. Rome is not about politics, the Senate, nor is it even about this city. You said so yourself at Idistaviso.” He gestured at everything around him in order to emphasize his point. “Rome is an idea, an idea that lives in those men, even when they’re drunk. It is an idea that lives in us, too; that the
entire world
can be brought together in one civilized, advanced, and orderly society. Rome is alive; it lives and breathes through us. As long as we live, Rome will continue to live.”

“So our reason to live is so that
Rome can continue to live,” Artorius observed.

Magnus raised his hands in a gesture of acceptance.
“Exactly.”

Artorius nodded in
contemplation. “Oh, I suppose there are worse things in life to live for,” he said as he took a long gulp of wine. “And it doesn’t hurt that they pay us adequately
and
let us enjoy some of the finer things in life.” He looked over at where Praxus and Decimus had left with their lady companions, the two merchants were passed out with their heads on the table.

“I guess they
were
as drunk as they looked.” Magnus laughed, rising to his feet and smacking his friend across the shoulder.

“And now I’m going to enjoy some of those finer things, especially since I’ve already paid for them
.” With that he ran back towards the tavern.

Artorius smiled, took another drink of wine
, and turned his attention back towards the river.
She really is beautiful
, he thought,
especially at this time of year.

His thoughts turned to the events coming up over the next few days. The games would be over soon, followed by the triumphal
parade and then back to the Rhine. Time was running short, and he had yet to hear from his father. The thought disturbed him. He thought he would at least have gotten a letter or message in reply. Surely his father had to know he was in Rome. The whole of the Empire knew about their victory over Arminius, so why had his father not made contact with him? The thought vexed him as he finished his wine and contemplated taking a walk along the river. No sooner had he risen, a voice caught his attention.

“Artorius?” It was a woman’s voice, one that he had not heard for some time. He turned to see Camilla standing there, her hands folded in front of her. “I’ve spent the last three days looking for you.”

“The Army of the Rhine is quite large. I’m surprised you were able to find me at all.” His face betrayed no emotion.

Did she really think he could still have feelings for her after she ran off and married a magistrate’s son only so she could live in luxury? Camilla ran towards him and wrapped her arms around him. Artorius remained motionless.

“Why did you not write to me?” She asked, trying to ignore his coldness.

“You have a husband and shou
ld not be pining after a lowly legionary,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest as
Camilla took a step back, leaving her hands on his shoulders.

“Oh
, don’t hate me for getting married,” she pouted. She then placed her face next to his ear. “I told you, Marcellus may be my husband but I still think of you as my lover.” She then flicked her tongue against his ear.

Artorius shuddered slightly. It
did
feel pretty good and besides, Camilla had blossomed and grown more womanly curves since he left two years before. He smiled. If she wanted him to be her lover, so be it; but it would be on his terms not hers. A series of wicked thoughts came to his mind.

They took a walk to a block of flats. Camilla opened the door to one and ushered Artorius in. It was
plain and unadorned; Camilla and her husband were simply renting the space while they were in Rome. Or could she have gotten it on her own, in anticipation of meeting her proposed lover?

“So
, where is your husband this night?” Artorius asked as he stepped inside.

“Off at one of the brothels, I do believe,” Camilla replied. “You know, under Roman law sex with a married person is not considered adultery if one is paying for the service.” She then placed her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

Artorius felt his body tense, blood rushing through his veins as he felt the beast inside him come unleashed.

He gave a guttural growl and bit her savagely on the neck. Camilla gave a yelp of surprise and mild pain. Artorius then swatted her hard across the butt before picking her up and throwing her roughly onto the bed. He was immediately on top of her, snarling and tearing her clothes off. Her garments tore in places as they were discarded. Camilla’s eyes were wide, her breath coming in near panic gasps. He
leered
at her.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Artorius growled into her ear. His lovemaking of Camilla was utterly savage and animalistic; at times it bordered on brutality. His deviant mind conjured up things to do to her that she had never even contemplated. Her screams were
, at times, a mixture of ecstasy and pain and were loud enough to wake the entire block. At one point he roughly turned her over onto her stomach and pulled back on her hair, biting her once more on the neck.

“Oh my,” Camilla panted, her face dripping with sweat. “What are you going to do to me now…” Her eyes grew wide in surprise and she bit hard into the pillow as Artorius
answered her question, thoroughly violating her in ways she never expected.

After a number of hours, when he had ravaged her to the point where he knew she would not even be able to walk the next day, he finished, took a brief moment to catch his breath, and then started to get dressed. Camilla simply lay there whimpering. He laughed to himself when he saw how her clothes were torn up, not to mention the very visible bite mark on her neck
, which would be swollen and purple by morning. As soon as he was dressed, he rummaged through her things and found a pouch
with some coins in it. As he took one out, Camilla struggled to sit up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, surprised.