Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “Nice little ploy with the king,” Taurus replied, “telling him that their Sulis and our Minerva are both the same goddess.”

  “Deity amalgamations are nothing new,” Cursor explained. “We’ve been doing it since Rome first started its expansion beyond the Seven Hills. Do you think it is mere coincidence that our pantheon and the Greek’s are identical, aside from the names? One often here’s Jupiter referred to as Zeus and Juno as Hera.”

  “So we merge one of our goddesses with theirs.”

  “It solves the issue of them being required to pay homage to the Roman gods, while at the same time showing that we respect their culture and religion,” Cursor added. He then leaned back and laughed aloud. “Taurus, my friend, you realize we have just created a new deity!”

  “And since the locals appear to have no images of her,” Taurus reasoned, “it’ll be simple enough for us to commission a bronze statue of Minerva and declare her to be the same entity as their goddess of the springs.”

  “All in due time, my friend,” the tribune replied. “We have a lot of work to do first. It’ll be years before this area is completely civilized and ready for expensive statues of amalgamated deities.”

  “Ah well,” Taurus shrugged. The centurion then reached back to the ledge of the pool and grabbed his wine cup, which he held high. “To the goddess, Minerva-Sulis!”

  “And to the soon-to-be proclaimed Roman township of Aquae Sulis,” Cursor added, raising his own goblet.

  While Artorius understood why vexilations from his legion were needed throughout the new province, it was frustrating for him to see to the needs of all his cohorts that were dispersed throughout the region while Scapula assimilated to his role as legate. He received word that the Second Legion was moving north and had left a detachment that had begun establishing a temporary garrison near a small village not far from the great hill they’d assaulted. Upon Artorius’ return, he found a number of his cohorts had been detached on either temporary garrison or logistical details. He found it particularly maddening that his Ninth Cohort had been tasked with escorting supply trains coming up from the coast, and no one could tell him exactly where they were. Indeed, only half of the Twentieth Legion remained in its main camp near the banks of the great river. The area they posted their eagle was where the river was narrow enough to accommodate bridges, but also deep enough that large seafaring vessels could navigate its waters.

  Scapula had taken the initiative in procuring a number of surveyors and engineers to begin building more permanent fortifications near the northern bank. Those legionaries that remained in the camp had put away their swords and now performed labor under the supervision of the engineers.

  “A large city will one day spring up in the wake of our humble camp,” Praxus said as he joined Artorius in observing the work being done by his men to improve fortifications around the large camp.

  Artorius snorted in reply. “Yes, well even Rome started from the humblest of origins,” the master centurion replied, echoing a conversation he’d had with Vespasian. “Who knows, perhaps these open fields will one day house a great city that will be the capitol of an even greater empire than our own.”

  The two centurions shared a chuckle at the absurd notion.

  “Well,” Praxus remarked, “if a great empire ever does find root here, it will be after it’s had a thousand years of Roman influence. But for now, I’ll be happy with some paved roads, sewage systems, and a place to have a good wash. Not that either of us will see what becomes of this place.” Artorius raised an eyebrow at the remark, which his friend was quick to explain. “I’m done, Artorius. I’ve served in the ranks even longer than you have, and I’m tired. I should have retired after my son joined the legions, but I just was not ready to let go. Now, I realize that if I don’t, sooner rather than later one of those barbarian bastards will get the best of me.”

  “Well whatever becomes of us,” Artorius said, “at least we know we’ve laid the foundations for the start of a new province. It will be the work of others that will determine whether Britannia remains a land of squalid poverty and never-ending warfare; or if perhaps she is destined for greater things.”

  ________

  Chapter Endnotes:

  1 – River Avon

  2 – Norfolk, England

  Chapter XXVI: Departure of Friends

  Roman Town of Aquae Sulis

  February, 44 A.D.

  ***

  With the emperor anxious to celebrate his Triumph the coming spring, Plautius knew he needed to tour the territories of his new province well before then. Aside from administrative details and appointments, it helped ease his mind to see for himself that the entire region would not fall into disarray while he was in Rome for the Triumph. One place he felt he needed to visit was on the very western frontier of Roman Britannia, which had been assimilated under very unusual circumstances.

  “Welcome, governor, to Aquae Sulis!” Tribune Cursor said as he saluted.

  “The Waters of Sulis,” Plautius translated. “A good name.”

  “It’s not much right now,” Cursor said, looking at the humble settlement behind him, “but it has enormous potential!”

  “Yes, I saw your report about the thermae springs,” the legate replied as he walked beside the tribune.

  “Seriously, sir, you need to take a plunge in them. It will change you!”

  Plautius chuckled in reply to Cursor’s enthusiasm. Since he had known him, the tribune had always come across as a man with a stoic sense of duty, so it somewhat surprised Plautius to see this much exuberance and excitement emanating from him. “You know, Vespasian sent you ahead with a single cavalry regiment on a reconnaissance mission, only to find out you acquired us an entire tribal kingdom without so much as shedding a drop of blood.”

  “These people were ready to be ‘Romanized’,” Cursor explained. “They were practically begging us to come in and civilize them. Still, if we’re going to protect them, I’ll need more than just a single regiment of cavalry on their border.”

  “Agreed,” Plautius replied. “There are a number of issues, both operational and logistical to see to, but I am tentatively planning on providing a substantial garrison for the border of our province and especially the Silures territories, where we think Caratacus has been in hiding. In due time, we can deal with them permanently. I also saw the agreement you reached with the Dobunni. Well done, my friend, well done indeed!”

  That evening the two men had a private dinner to discuss Plautius’ plans for the region. Cursor’s cavalry had established the rudimentary fortifications of a wooden fort, though the troopers themselves still slept in their tents at night. The large tent that served as Cursor’s principia sat in the very center. It was a stormy night, and the rain beat down against the canvas as servants brought courses for the two men. It was a humble meal of soldier rations consisting to wheat cakes and porridge, supplemented with some fish that Cursor’s men had bartered for from local fishermen.

  “I apologize for that lack of better subsistence,” the tribune said as they ate while listening to the wind and rain battering the canvas. “A mobile cavalry force does not have the logistics capabilities to provide a more fitting meal to a governor-general. Though we managed to procure some fish from the locals, they apparently have never heard of garum; a pity because it’s great for dipping bread into. I suppose the making of quality fish sauce is something else we’ll have to teach these people.” The governor gave a short laugh at Cursor’s mentioning of one of Rome’s most popular condiments.

  “I’m not above eating the same fare as the men in the ranks,” Plautius said. He then grinned. “I’m just glad your tent doesn’t leak. The rain seems to be a constant companion in this land. Still, like you said, this land does have potential.”

  “It will be better once we start establishing a more enduring presence here,” Cursor replied. “Get some real roads put in, sewage lines, and more permanent structures with modern facilities.”r />
  “About that,” Plautius said, taking a long drink of wine and pausing for a minute in contemplation. He turned his cup around in his hand as he spoke once more. “I heard rumor that you have no intention of returning to Rome.”

  “There may be some truth in that,” the tribune replied. “I also intend to resign my post as commander of the army’s cavalry corps.”

  Plautius took another pull off his cup, though he did not seem surprised at Cursor’s last statement.

  The tribune continued, “I’m fifty-two years old, and while I don’t look it, it is time I put away my sword for good. And before you ask; I have no desire to go back into politics.”

  “I cannot blame you there,” the legate remarked. “You spent ten years as a tribune of the plebs. Personally, I dread the day I have to leave behind the army and the provinces for the politics of Rome. As you know too well, at least out here our enemies have the courtesy of looking us in the eye and making it known they mean to kill us.” He took another drink and the two ate in silence for a minute or so before the governor explained the real reason for his visit. “There is a way that you can still serve Rome in an important capacity. We have established a new province, but it is rather frail, and our borders are fraught with enemies. Strengthening our hold will require sound diplomacy even more than the swords of the legions.”

  “What do you propose?” Cursor asked, taking another wheat cake from a passing servant’s tray.

  “The Dobunni king sent a messenger, who we intercepted on our journey here,” Plautius explained. “He spoke very highly of you and the respect you have shown their people. Hell, you’ve even given this settlement a name already.”

  “Just something that sounded obvious,” Cursor shrugged. “A Latin name merged with their goddess of the springs. I hoped you wouldn’t disapprove.”

  “It is a name that will last through the ages, no doubt,” Plautius emphasized, showing that he approved of Cursor’s choice. He continued, “Given their strategic position on the western edge of the province, plus their eagerness to become Romans, makes this an important position. What would you say if I appointed you the imperial magistrate and mayor of Aquae Sulis?”

  With Scapula installed as commander of the Twentieth Legion and assimilating well, Artorius at last allowed himself a bit of reprieve. He had assisted both the legate and chief tribune in familiarizing themselves with the intricacies particular to the Valeria Legion. Scapula was an efficient administrator, and he had managed rather quickly to get a handle on the dispersed vexilations throughout the province, ensuring that all detached cohorts still maintained regular contact with the legion headquarters and were still held accountable to the commanding legate.

  It was now February, and he had just turned forty-six the previous month. With his pending return to Rome and final retirement from the legions, one of his last acts was to go through the tedious task of selecting those soldiers who would accompany him for the emperor’s Triumph. His final duty would be to lead his men in the victory parade through the streets of the Eternal City, after which he would accept his discharge papers and leave the army forever.

  As for the soldiers who were fortunate enough to win a lengthy leave in Rome, Artorius had selected two cohort commanders and a dozen other centurions who had distinguished themselves throughout the campaign. He left it up to the commanders of each century to submit the names of those who they felt had fought valiantly and shown exemplary conduct. Essentially, anyone awarded the Silver Torque for Valor was selected, provided they had no subsequent disciplinary issues. Also, any soldiers who had reached their service obligation date and were electing to take their discharge would be part of the imperial triumph. But while the men in the ranks busied themselves with establishing and fortifying the new province, or else making ready for their leave in Rome, the master centurion had some unfinished business to attend to.

  Artorius dismounted his horse just outside the camp hospital that sat on the outskirts of Durovernum Cantiacorum. Though still consisting mostly of tents, the foundations, as well as sewage and water channels, had been laid in preparation for a more permanent hospital complex. The proximity to the River Stour allowed for rapid transport of logistical shipments, to include much-needed supplies for the growing hospital. Part of the massive preparations, that had taken two years to accomplish, involved staging stockpiles of equipment at depots along the northern coast of Gaul and Belgica. These were now being ferried across the channel as quickly as the turbulent seas would allow.

  As the master centurion walked through the camp, his heart broke at the sight of wounded and maimed legionaries who had somehow survived their fearful injuries. Some were missing limbs; others bore fearful scars, while even more were emaciated by the effects of disease and various illnesses. Those who had succumbed to their afflictions were hastily taken to a clearing outside the camp, where a blackened pyre was erected to send the poor souls to whatever gods there may be.

  “Such is the glory of conquest,” Artorius muttered darkly. He then reminded himself that as tragic as their losses were, they could have been much worse. The two most significant battles they had fought had been decisive and overwhelmingly one-sided in terms of casualties.

  As Artorius continued his walk, he smiled for the first time since his arrival upon spotting Magnus standing near the riverbank with a handful of other convalescing soldiers. The Nordic centurion had lost a tremendous amount of weight and was still very pale, but at least he was now moving about, albeit with the use of a walking stick.

  “Still among the living,” Artorius said as he strolled through the ankle-high grass that lined the bank.

  “Odin has no use for me, since I couldn’t get myself killed properly in battle,” Magnus replied with a tired laugh. He continued to stare out onto the water for a few moments before turning to face his friend. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I feel some days that I’m never going to heal and regain my former strength.”

  “Still, you’re much better than when I left you,” Artorius retorted. “You were bleeding out, and I had to leave you here, not knowing whether you or any of the other lads would live or die.”

  “After all these years in the ranks, they had to get me sooner or later,” the Norseman mused. “Pity for them that they couldn’t finish me properly.” There was just a trace of the old defiance in the Norseman that Artorius found reassuring.

  The two started to walk along the edge of the river; Magnus stating that it was good for him to keep his legs limber.

  “I’ll be returning to Rome soon,” Artorius said after a minute’s silence.

  “Will you be coming back after the Triumph?” Magnus asked, suspecting his friend’s answer. “Or was this the last campaign of Master Centurion Titus Artorius Justus?”

  “I’ve had enough,” Artorius replied bluntly. He felt uneasy about the Norseman’s perpetually dark demeanor, and he knew it came not just from his painfully slow recovery. “And I am sorry about Achillia.”

  His words stopped Magnus in his tracks, and the Norseman looked down momentarily and took a deep breath.

  “I know you loved her,” Artorius added.

  “She is the only woman I have ever loved,” Magnus remarked before looking up once more. As he met Artorius’ gaze, his eyes were wet with tears, despite it being five months since her death. “Did you know she was with child?”

  “No,” Artorius replied, his eyes growing wide in sad realization. “I am doubly sorry, old friend. I grieve with you.”

  “She wasn’t far along,” Magnus noted. “In fact, she had only confirmed it about a week before we made the assault on Mai Dun. I begged her not to risk taking part in the attack, yet she assured me that her condition was not so far along that it would be an encumbrance.”

  “There was no denying her bravery,” Artorius observed. “No doubt the actions of her skirmishers saved the lives of a number of our men. She earned her place in Elysium.”

  Magnus continued, �
�She wasn’t even a soldier, yet she was still bound by duty, just as we were. It’s been five, almost six months; one would think I’d be able to put it behind me.”

  “We never do,” Artorius stated bluntly, “at least not completely. Those I have loved and lost will always be with me, as Achillia will remain with you. But moving on does not mean you disrespect her memory.”

  “I confess I’ve envied you for many years,” Magnus said, his words startling Artorius. He was quick to explain. “You’re my best friend, and I’ve always wished for you nothing but happiness in life. I see what you have with Diana, and I wanted that. After I became a centurion, I was eligible to marry and should have found a viable wife to bear me sons; but I wanted more than just a breeding partner. I wanted that same bond you share with Diana. Roman society says that I’m a fool, and they’re probably right. After all, one simply does not marry for love.”

  There was a deep sense of bitterness in Magnus’ demeanor, and Artorius surmised it was compounded by his wounds that were taking far too long to heal. He made mention of this to his friend.

  “Well, I’m not exactly the lad of seventeen that I was when we joined the ranks,” the Norseman said with a sardonic chuckle. “I keep telling myself I’m not an old man, but the body does not heal like it once did. Still, I am making progress, albeit far more slowly than I can stand most days. The doctors don’t know if I’ll ever be fully fit to fight again; hell, most of them said I should have died of my wounds already so they’re left perplexed as it is!”

  “It is a strange paradox in that the legions keep us young in many ways, while at the same time aging us in others,” Artorius observed, thankful for the change of subject. “They keep us fit, well-fed, and even the lowest rankers are able to make a viable living on their wages.”

  “Provided they don’t blow it all on getting shit-housed while fucking every whore in the province,” Magnus noted. “Which many of them do.”