by James Mace
A Roman fortress was a sight to behold, and the one at Cologne was even more impressive as it housed two legions instead of the usual one. Its walls stood approximately fifteen feet high and were manned by the occasional sentry, as well as scorpion ballistae every few dozen meters. Running along the outside length of the wall was a wide ditch filled with sharp stakes and various entanglements. It was all for show, however, as the Romans were not of a defensive mindset. Even if assailed by the largest of enemy armies that had them substantially outnumbered, the legionaries would spill forth and brazenly meet their foe head-on. It was this guile and aggressiveness that unnerved their adversaries far more than the defensive walls of the fortress.
The gatehouse was very large, with double gates that would allow passage of both men and wagons in both directions. Ever manned by a squad of legionaries, it was almost always left open, and only partially closed at night.
“This is where it all began,” Artorius said quietly, taking a deep breath as they approached the gate.
“Ave, Master Centurion!” a soldier on duty shouted, raising his pilum high in salute as Artorius and Diana rode through. It was surprising that though he traveled in civilian garb, the soldier had recognized him immediately. Artorius thought the man looked familiar and surmised that he may have been one of his legionaries long ago.
“Ten years away, and they still recognize you,” Diana observed with a quiet laugh.
As they dismounted their horses, the decanus in charge of the gate approached the pair and saluted. Artorius returned the courtesy, realizing that this was the first salute he’d been given since he left Judea.
“Welcome home, Master Centurion Artorius,” the sergeant said. “Your presence is required by the commanding legate.”
“Understood,” Artorius replied. “Have a couple of men escort my wife and servants to our quarters.”
“Yes, sir.” The decanus then shouted some orders to a runner, who made his way over to the nearest barracks.
“Time to report for duty, master centurion,” Diana smiled as she kissed her husband on the cheek.
Artorius left his horse with her and slowly made his way through the fortress towards the Principia, taking in the sights of the ever-hectic daily life of the legions. In some ways it felt like, though he’d been away for a decade, he’d never really left. Out of curiosity, he strolled past the barracks of his former unit, the Third Cohort’s Second Century. Coincidentally, they were assembled in full armor and kit, making ready for a road march that each unit made three times a month. Artorius frowned slightly when he did not recognize either the centurion or optio. He did note a few familiar faces amongst the older decanii and legionaries, who in turn shot him a knowing glance, but that was it. The century he had spent sixteen years with was completely foreign to him now. And yet, there was still a sense of familiarity about it.
“The names will change, but the faces remain the same,” he reasoned as he continued on his way. Though he longed to reunite with his old friends who he knew he would find in the first cohort, he had other matters to attend to first.
“Artorius!”
The shout startled him and he turned about to see the first truly familiar face since his arrival. His face broke into a broad grin as the man who called his name walked quickly towards him.
“By Juno…Valens!” he said, forgetting his task for a moment and walking back to embrace the man he’d served with for decades and who’d been his optio in Judea. He then noticed that his friend who, though in his tunic, wore his gladius on his left hip instead of his right, and he carried a vine stick. “Well, I’ll be buggered. They made you a centurion!”
“It came as a bit of a shock to me as well,” Valens said with a nonchalant shrug. “Wasn’t the easiest thing, coming back after we’d been gone for a number of years. Because they promised I’d keep my rank, I slid into a vacant optio position that did not make the unit’s centurion, or the fellow he was going to promote, happy.”
“And how did you handle that?” Artorius asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“Same way I always do,” Valens replied. “I got them both piss drunk and arranged for some suitable ‘entertainment’. One’s a lot less likely to hold a grudge after having their cock drained a few times.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Artorius chuckled, shaking his head. He then asked, “Where are you assigned now?”
“Fifth Cohort, same as Metellus. I have the Second Century, he has the Fourth. Tyranus, the centurion who replaced you when we left here, is our pilus prior. A solid officer, that one; I would like to have worked with him in our younger days. As far as cohort commanders go, I’d say he’s better than Dominus, though not quite as good as Vitruvius or Proculus were.”
“And where does he rate compared to me?” Artorius asked, folding his arms.
“That I’ll never say,” Valens replied with a wink. “One answer would insult you, and the other would be a false, flattering ass kissing. And you, sir, will get neither from me. But no matter; it is good to see you again.” He then extended his hand, which Artorius readily accepted.
It was midmorning by the time he walked up the short flight of steps that led into the principia; the rather ostentatious and ornate building, decorated with columns, statues, and frescos along the walls that served as the legion’s headquarters. His hobnailed sandals clicked on the polished stone floor as he made his way through the main foyer to where the legate’s office was. He would have his own office here as well, for his duties would extend to the entire legion, not just the first cohort. Seated behind a desk outside the legate’s office was the another welcome sight, and it caused Artorius to burst into laughter.
“Camillus!” he said boisterously, causing the man to bolt upright. One time the signifier for Artorius’ century, he had been the legion’s aquilifer for at least a decade. In addition to being in charge of all the legion’s finances, he also carried its sacred eagle standard into battle.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Camillus chuckled as he stood from his desk and extended a hand to his old friend. “Come back to us after cavorting in the east, finally!”
“I thought you would have left the legions years ago,” Artorius conjectured.
He noted that Camillus, who was a few years older than he, had traces of grey just beginning to show in his close-cropped hair. And yet, his face still maintained much of its boyishness that made it impossible for anyone to guess his age.
The aquilifer simply shrugged. “I can call it a career anytime I want. I was considering it last year, but now I’m not missing out on the emperor’s big expedition across the sea. Sure, it’ll mean hanging on for at least a couple more years, as well as risking some druid chopping off my head and using it as a pot, but I’d never forgive myself if I did not take part in turning the page of history.”
“I suppose the whole of the empire knows about the proposed invasion, even though nothing’s been officially posted,” Artorius sighed.
“That, and anyone within a thousand miles of our borders,” Camillus laughed. “You can bet every tribal kingdom in the whole of Britannia knows of our intentions. We can only hope they remain too engrossed in their constant infighting amongst each other. Otherwise there will be a million of those bastards to greet us on the beaches. I just hope for a sunny invasion in the summer, because the waters of that sea are bloody cold!”
“Is the legate in?” Artorius asked, changing the subject.
“In a manner of speaking,” the aquilifer replied, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, to be honest, he came in this morning but I haven’t seen him since. Apparently he’s taking his afternoon nap.”
“So it’s true then,” Artorius grumbled.
“Ah, Metellus filled you in a bit, did he? When I gave him his leave papers, along with your promotion orders, I asked him to give you fair warning. Of course, Metellus doesn’t know but half of it. Don’t get me wrong
, I actually like Legate Glabrio. He very affable and all, but the thing is he just so…well, old. I have no idea what his age is, but one would think he was older than my grandfather who’s been dead for twenty years. He has no command presence at all, and he comes across as one who should be sitting on a bench, telling stories to his grandchildren, rather than trying to lead men into battle. The only thing keeping the lads from mocking him openly is fear of the lash from their centurions, who at least respect the office, if not the man.”
“How did he get the posting?” Artorius asked in frustration. “There are perhaps six hundred eligible members of the senatorial class who could hold command and only twenty-five legate postings in the entire empire. In theory, only those with the best military credentials get a vacancy when it comes available. How did one who is so unfit to lead men into battle acquire one?”
“Like everything else,” Camillus explained, “politics. I don’t know the details, but it seems he was on rather friendly terms with Gaius Caligula, who granted him the position last fall. The only person who can remove him is the emperor, and he won’t because Glabrio hasn’t technically done anything wrong. And therein lies the problem; he hasn’t done anything.”
“And a legate’s tour is three years,” Artorius noted. “So it looks like we’ll be taking him with us.”
“Provided he doesn’t have a heart attack on the voyage across the channel,” Camillus chuckled darkly.
“What about the chief tribune?” the master centurion asked.
“He’s alright,” Camillus shrugged. “But like all of them, he has little to no experience. His name is Sempronius, and I’m guessing he’s about twenty-five. He’s probably even more frustrated than the rest of us, because he’s supposed to be second-in-command and learning all he can from the legate. It’s difficult enough getting a chief tribune position, and one’s success or failure usually determines if they will ever get command of a legion. Well, if he goes his entire tenure without learning anything tactically or strategically useful, he’ll never get a command. That’s the odd thing, it seems most of our senior leaders are either young, or at least inexperienced in their positions…you included.”
“Well, at least I’ve led a cohort into battle,” Artorius stated, not taking his friend’s assessment as an insult. “What can be that much different at the legion-level, besides the number of men?”
“Plenty,” Camillus emphasized. “And if I were a gambler, I would guess that most of the responsibility for the running of the legion will fall upon you. Many of the legate’s duties Glabrio simply will not bother with, and Sempronius cannot do them all on his own. I’d get ready for a lot of long days and sleepless nights, even if we weren’t planning to hop over and say ‘hello’ to the blue-painted barbarians across the water.”
“At least one senior leader has lengthy experience in his posting,” Artorius laughed, causing Camillus to shrug once more.
“Sure, I’ve been aquilifer for more than ten years,” he confessed. “And the signifiers are all rather pissed, wondering when I’m going to retire or simply fall over dead, so one of them can take it. But what am I, really? I’m honestly just an overpaid bookkeeper who carries a shiny metal bird into battle while sweating under a cumbersome lion’s pelt. And do you know what a smelly bitch that damned thing becomes when it gets wet? But seriously, I actually have no command responsibility at all, and the only person I answer directly to is…well, you.”
“But you also understand the inner workings of the legion,” Artorius persisted. “I have a feeling that I will need that experience quite often. So perhaps we should both be ready for long days and sleepless nights.”
“Already been happening,” Camillus said with a wink. “Who do you think answers most of the imperial post from here? Hell, I’ve even got access to the legate’s signet ring and can place the official seal on absolutely anything I send out!”
The double-doors to the left of Camillus’ desk opened and out walked a stooped old man that Artorius could only surmise was Legate Glabrio. He had a pleasant demeanor about him, but he looked rather frail and his eyes were both squinted. Both men still stood at attention, deferring respect to Glabrio’s rank, regardless of any personal doubts they may have harbored regarding his leadership abilities.
“Ah, Camillus,” he said. “Anything of interest come in the imperial post today?”
“Yes, sir. A dispatch informing us that Aulus Plautius is being appointed commander-in-chief of the Rhine Army.”
“Plautius,” the legate said, furrowing his brow. “Oh, yes, I remember him! Quite the spry, driven young man. Well, if that is all, then I shall retire for the evening.”
Artorius shot Camillus a quick glance, puzzled at the legate’s remark, given that it was still midafternoon. The aquilifer subtly shook his head.
“One more thing, sir,” Camillus said. “Our new primus pilus has arrived.”
“Oh, and who is he?” It took a moment for Glabrio to notice Artorius, who finally spoke.
“Master Centurion Artorius, reporting for duty, sir.”
“Yes, well I’m sure Camillus can fill you in on everything. I swear he knows more about what goes on within this legion than any of us! You two carry on, then.”
“Sir!” both men replied as they watched Glabrio slowly walk out of the foyer.
He seemed puzzled for a moment that it was still broad daylight, but then shrugged and continued on his way.
“Not the reception you were expecting,” Camillus said with a cocked grin.
“Not at all.” Artorius shook his head, completely baffled by what he’d just seen. “He looks more like someone’s great-grandfather who should be rocking children on his knee, rather than the commander of an imperial legion. And if I recall, Plautius is approaching fifty…”
“He’s forty-six,” Camillus corrected.
“Yes, well that’s still hardly a ‘spry young man’, as our legate assessed.”
“I didn’t bother telling him what else came in the post,” Camillus said, his demeanor serious as he tossed a pile of dispatches onto his desk. “You’ll want to read through these later, as they are quite detailed, laying out the plans for next year’s shifting of forces within the empire. Fortunately, our task is pretty simple.”
“Oh?” Artorius asked as he started to scan the top parchment.
“Sure. All we have to do is hold in place and keep training, while also serving as a staging area for rations and equipment.”
“That means the fortress is going to get rather crowded,” Artorius observed.
“Granted,” Camillus acknowledged. “Still, our remaining static is a good thing; as it will give all of our newer senior leaders sufficient time to assimilate into their positions. We also have one of the shortest routes to the debarkation point, whenever the invasion does launch.”
“Any idea where it will be from?” Artorius asked as he quickly scanned several of the pages.
“One dispatch mentioned Gesoriacum,” the aquilifer answered. “It’s about two weeks march from here and only perhaps twenty miles from the Britannic coast. And in the meanwhile, you may as well take some time getting to know the First Cohort. With every other responsibility being dumped on you, you won’t be able to spend nearly as much time with them as you’d like, even though they will be the ones you lead into battle.”
“Well, at least I have Magnus and Praxus to help me there,” the master centurion noted. He then handed the dispatches back to Camillus. “Do me a favor and put these in my office. I’ll start going through them this evening.” He started to walk away before stopping and saying over his shoulder, “And Camillus, do keep the legate’s signet ring, but let me know before you send any official correspondence from here.”
He left the principia feeling a little perplexed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected his return to the legions to feel like; it was an odd amalgamation of familiar and foreign. And given the caliber of the legates he’d served under throughout his car
eer, he was extremely disappointed in his current legion commander. A legate was expected to be old enough, with sufficient experience, that he could make sound tactical and strategic decisions on his own, even with little to no time for deliberation. He also had to be young and fit enough that he had the stamina for running a sustained campaign, while also setting the example for his men. In the few minutes he had seen him, Artorius surmised that Glabrio possessed none of these traits. All the same, he understood that it was not up to him to decide whether or not a senatorial legate was fit for command. Nor could he influence the emperor in who should command the legion. His duty now was to enforce the standards of training, discipline, and conduct within the legion. He owed that to his legionaries!
He decided to begin with an assessment of his own First Cohort. He walked over to the drill field and found one of their centuries practicing individual weapons drill on the six-foot training stakes. An optio was pacing the line, shouting commands to his men, who would then either smash the thick poles with their shields or attack with their wooden practice gladii. The first thing that stood out about these men was their age. Acceptance into the elite First Cohort was restricted mostly to those with at least sixteen years in the ranks, who had proven themselves in battle, and who were noted for a career of distinguished conduct. Some legions boasted that they required their men to be of a certain height as well, giving them a more formidable appearance. However, one thing Artorius had noted in his career was that one’s fighting prowess had little to do with how tall he was.
Given that the First Cohort was always kept at full strength, sometimes exceptions for membership were made for soldiers who were slightly younger, yet had still acquitted themselves well throughout their careers. Even so, Artorius noted there was not a man on the training field who looked younger than thirty. Indeed, most of the legionaries who assailed the training stakes appeared to be anywhere from their early thirties to just over forty. And because they were exempt from guard duty and fatigue details, all they ever did was train to fight. A legionary in the First Cohort was also paid as much as a decanus in a regular line century. The incentives for membership were enormous, as were their expected standards and fighting capabilities.
