A Hunter and His Legion (The Praetorian Series Book 3)

by Edward Crichton

  He paused, giving us time to let it all sink in.

  I turned to Vincent. “Is all that possible?” I asked in English.

  “Certainly possible,” he answered after giving himself a moment to think, but he didn’t seem willing to elaborate even if he could.

  “Oh,” Vespasian interrupted, “I believe I failed to include that Britain has rebelled against the legion I left there last year as well.”

  “Is that so…” I whispered, already seeing where this was going.

  “It is,” Vespasian said as he lurched to his feet, “so I have a proposition for you, Jacob Hunter. I give you everything you ask for and more, and in return… you reconquer Britain for me.”

  “Me?” I asked, truly stunned now.

  “Not you alone, of course,” Vespasian comforted as he sat on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed in front of him. “I have already sent a courier to Galba to make haste to Britain and await reinforcements. He is one of the most experienced military commanders I have available, and I believe he would be most happy to see you.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Santino said.

  Vespasian ignored him. “I left only a single legion earlier this year under Legate Aulus Plautius’ command when Agrippina ordered us to the German front,” Vespasian elaborated. “I argued we needed at least another year to quell the countryside and leave no less than three legions to maintain control, but I was overruled.”

  “So how many are you sending with Galba?” I asked.

  I tried to do the math in my head of how many legions were currently with Galba in Germany, Vespasian here, located in Britain, and scattered around the rest of the empire, but there were so many I couldn’t nearly keep track of them all.

  “Not a one,” he answered

  “Not a one, huh?” I repeated, growing suddenly frustrated. “What would you like me to do then? Win Britain over with my looks and charm alone?”

  Vespasian smiled. “That will not be necessary, as I will be sending two legions with you instead: the II Augusta and the XV Primigenia. I believe you are familiar with the latter?”

  “We worked with them five years ago when they were still training under Galba’s tutelage,” Vincent answered.

  “Good, then you should be familiar with them. Furthermore, you will have one legion’s worth of auxilia, the legion and its auxilia already present in Britain, and of course, you will have Galba.”

  “Oh good,” Santino muttered.

  I lifted a hand questioningly. “Wait, you’re only giving me assets equivalent to what you wanted as a peace keeping force?”

  “I have full faith in your abilities, Jacob Hunter. You can do things that ten legions cannot. Three legions should be enough.”

  I held Vespasian’s eye for a second before I turned to my companions. Artie wore a blank expression, clearly not understanding a word we’d said. Wang looked interested, as did Vincent, while Helena looked worried and rubbed her belly distractedly. Santino, unsurprisingly, looked bored.

  “What about Agrippina?” I asked, folding my arms to mirror Vespasian’s posture.

  “There is not much we can do about her for now, I’m afraid,” Vespasian answered. “Word has reached me that she has taken her entire Praetorian force to deal with the Parthian threat, which I must lead as soon as I am done here, but, as fortune would have it,” he said, clapping Herod on the shoulder, “Herod here has agreed to appeal to his forces to stand down, so I should be able to withdraw within the week.”

  “I would not have agreed to such terms had I known you would be working with him,” Herod growled.

  “Herod, for the love of the gods, will you shut up,” Vespasian snapped, turning to glare at him. “This man did what he had to do. If you knew the full extent of his reasoning you would not be so quick to condemn. None of this, not even your arm, was personal.”

  “Wasn’t personal!?” Herod shouted. “Thousands of Jews are dead, our peace with Rome in tatters, and people on both sides demand more blood, so how can you say this was not personal??”

  I didn’t want to frown, or show any kind of emotion, but I couldn’t help it. Despite Vespasian’s rationale, Herod was right. The killing of all those Jews and the deaths of all the Romans who had come to fight them was a tragedy that wouldn’t have happened if not for my involvement, but I tried to think about the fact that I may have actually saved thousands of future lives. In all likelihood, the rebellion in Judea today had circumvented the rebellion that would have occurred twenty years from now, where even more Jews died in a much longer war.

  I had to accept that justification. I had to.

  “Herod,” I said softly, and he finally lifted his eyes to meet my own, “please understand, there is more at stake here than you can possibly imagine. We used you, yes, and I’m sorry for that, but it was very necessary. Take comfort in the fact that should Vespasian wrest control from Agrippina, things will change for you and your people… for the better.”

  Herod stared at me with icy eyes, and I knew he would never trust me again. Something there indicated that if I ever saw him again, I’d better watch my back, but I only hoped he wouldn’t get in the way now. There was too much at stake.

  He held his predatory gaze on me before finally turning to Vespasian. “I am finished here.”

  He stomped out of the tent, but on his way out, made sure to bump against me with his good shoulder, muttering under his breath as he made his retreat. I felt a sharp pain in my side as he ricocheted off of me, and I winced and reached up to cover my wound with a hand as he stormed past

  “Nice to see you too, buddy,” Santino called out to his retreating backside. When Herod failed to respond as he finally disappeared, Santino turned back to me. “Don’t people say goodbye anymore?”

  I smirked at him as I rubbed my side, and turned back to Vespasian.

  “He will be all right,” he said. “He has a fiery temper, but a sound mind. We will soon have peace in the region, and I will be free to move on to more important matters.”

  I couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief at that. “Good.”

  “Now, on to said more important matters,” Vespasian said while moving to stand directly in front of me. “Tell me Jacob Hunter, would you consider a commission as legate of a legion?”

  I blinked. “Me?? A general?”

  “Why not? Were you not an officer in your country’s navy once?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said feeling suddenly overwhelmed, “but I was of relatively low rank.”

  Vespasian chuckled. “I would not care if you had been but a simple foot soldier. You are our only option. I have been forced to reassign many legates in recent months and many tribunes have either fled back to Rome or are of worthless value. You will have a skeleton staff of officers, mostly administrative ones at that, but a full complement of centurions and I will also leave my own senior centurion with you. He goes by Fabius, and is a tough war master and not very sociable, but he is efficient and intelligent, and will serve you well.”

  “Well, uh...”

  I tried to stall while I mulled over the possibility of actually becoming a member of the Roman legion. I’d once thought all the magic and childlike wonder I’d brought with me to Ancient Rome had died years ago, but I couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of excitement at Vespasian’s proposal. I turned to Helena who gave me a small smile, a look that said, Come on, Jacob. You know this is something you’ve wanted since we got here.

  I nodded, and turned back to Vespasian. “So do I get some kind of ceremony?”

  “No. As you are already technically a Roman citizen, there is little be needed done. I will have the official papers drawn up within the week before you set sail.”

  I frowned. “Rather anticlimactic, but fine. Anything else I should know?”

  Vespasian squinted at me. “I wonder if I should ask why it is you wish to go to Britain at all, but I suspect it is for something beyond my understanding. Instead I will simply
pray that the gods be with you as you begin your odyssey, and wish you luck upon your very first assignment as one of my generals.”

  “All right then,” I said with a nod that must have seemed more confident than I felt. “Let’s do it.”

  ***

  I still have vivid memories of packing for long trips as a kid.

  My mom and dad would spend hours, sometimes a few days, gathering up all of our stuff before packing it away in the car. Clothes, toiletries, snacks, entertainment items, all that stuff. The whole process always seemed excessively involved and tedious to me as a kid, but those excursions were nothing compared to what I was preparing for now. Making matters even more difficult was that Caesarea was a disaster zone, and nearly devoid of any accessible supplies. The streets were strewn with rubble, decaying bodies, stray animals, and any semblance of civilization was all but gone. Residents were starting to rebuild, but there were only a few shops open that sold the things I now found myself in need of.

  Without all the tribunes and magistrates normally associated with running a legion, I found myself quickly overwhelmed with all the administrative and logistical needs that came with running two of the damned things. Luckily, Brewster had volunteered her services to help oversee everything. Her family apparently owned an import/export business back home, and she’d spent her entire childhood dealing with procurement, trading, and business dealings.

  She was a godsend, and oversaw the collection of everything from food to ensuring the Romans had appropriate attire for the coming wintry months in Britain, something I hadn’t even thought about. She’d done a pretty good job so far, and since I had to basically finance this entire operation with the reward money Helena, Santino, and I had collected during our time as Vani, and since Vespasian had refused to pay me, I appreciated the fact that she was a shrewd businesswoman.

  Despite her help, however, there was one item we needed that I couldn’t let her handle. It was something I could barely bring myself to do, let alone ask someone else to do, because it was something I considered outright criminal: the purchasing of slaves to row our boats.

  “Slaves?” I’d asked Vespasian a few days later after he had appropriated the vessels I needed, but without the needed hands.

  “Of course. Who else are you going to have row your ships?”

  “Hired hands of course,” I said, the answer seeming obvious, not to mention historically relevant.

  Vespasian shook his head. “You will not find anyone to do it. Not here. In normal circumstances rowers would be in fresh supply, but with so many displaced families and deceased locals, finding capable men will be near impossible. Slaves… however, are in abundant supply. Many have been with the legions since before Britain.”

  “Why can’t we just use sails?” I asked, basically whining.

  Vespasian shrugged. “Sails will get you where you want to go, but the Mediterranean is a very dangerous place. Many pirates still lurk in its waters even after Pompey did his best to exterminate them decades ago. You will need rowers to maneuver your ships should a time for battle arise.”

  I’d sighed, nodded, and moved on.

  There was no getting around it. I had to purchase another human being – hundreds of them in fact, and it was a horrendous feeling. It made me feel evil. Even if the Romans didn’t discriminate their slaves based on any physical or other attribute, it was still… wrong.

  As I’d toured the slave pens, doing everything I could to keep myself from vomiting at the very fact that I was even there, I noted that most of the enslaved people were captured soldiers, but there were also many women, children, and families among them as well. Most of them were Jews, captured right here in Caesarea, but others were from all over, following Vespasian’s legions as they traveled the empire, and it was with the families in mind that I did something no Roman would ever do when purchasing slaves: for every man I bought, I purchased a woman as well, and every preexisting family I could find.

  The auction took place in the legion camp, and was much as I imagined slave dealerships in the old South during the time of American slavery. The location was muddy, dirty, grimy, and the stench of death was ever present in the air. Individuals were asked to stand on a platform wearing practically nothing, and were as groomed and clean as they could be. There they stood before potential buyers, and the auction would begin.

  I was the only person in attendance.

  It seemed slaves really weren’t high on a Caesarean citizen’s priority list these days.

  My stomach churned when the first man was brought out for my inspection. I looked at him, measuring his physical fitness, and decided he’d be perfect. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, with long, curly red hair. I figured he was German. He stared at me coldly, and my stomach flipped over itself again as I turned to the dealer to announce my desire to buy him. Without anyone to bid against, I was given varying flat rates depending on the age and gender of the slave. The dealer signaled for the man to be taken to a holding area for pickup, and I did everything I could to not hate myself in that moment, again trying to justify it all by thinking that I was doing that man an enormous favor in the long run.

  And so went one of the worst days of my life. I purchased hundreds of men and an equal number of women, passing over hundreds more. I made sure the dealer was aware that I wanted to keep families together, and he didn’t seem to have any issue with that.

  As a petite, young, blond woman stepped off the platform – the last to be purchased – I felt better about myself, having made sure that every woman, besides the ones who were already mothers, seemed young enough to bare children. Many were attractive as well, but there was no way I could bring myself to discriminate my purchases based on that qualifier, but finding ones able to start families seemed like the least I could do.

  When she was out of sight, I paid the dealer for the damages, tipped him grudgingly by throwing a few pieces of silver at his feet, and tried to keep my mind on the future: when I would free them all the moment we landed on the shores of Britain, timeline altering ramifications be damned.

  No other Roman slave holder would have done the same.

  By the third day, I had my slaves and I had my ships, which were merchant vessels that Vespasian had ordered repurposed for military use. They were large, sturdy, quick, and wide enough to stand fifteen men abreast and fifty from bow to stern. Brewster began provisioning each ship as they became available, and by our seventh day in Caesarea, we were ready to go. Fully provisioned, manned, and loaded, we set forth into the sunset, ready to begin our next adventure.

  As my flotilla pushed off into the calm waters of the Mediterranean, I stood at the stern railing of the ship I’d chosen as my command vessel, looking out over the water at the retreating city, wondering if I would ever see it again. It represented a dark place in my mind, a horrid reminder of my meddling in the past, and how I’d been responsible for so much death. Even with all my comforting thoughts of how it was better than the alternative, I couldn’t help but feel extraordinarily sad.

  I placed my elbows on the railing and held my hands against my cheeks, choosing to just lean there for a while as the city slowly grew smaller. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there when Helena walked up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, thankfully avoiding my wound that was finally healing properly. I was startled by her presence, but when she placed her head against my back, comfort returned.

  “Vespasian’s heading north,” Helena reported, her sniper’s eyes always sharp.

  I looked up and noticed a thin line of Roman troops marching northwards along the coast. Barely the size of ants on the horizon, I saw what looked like a small contingent of horses, and wondered if Vespasian was there, hoping to God that he could pull the empire back together again if he was.

  It was the only way I could ever really live with myself at the end of all this.

  “Think we’ll ever see him again?” Helena asked quietly.

  “Probably,
” I replied, pushing off the railing and turning so that my back was to the water. I reached out and pulled Helena into my arms and held her tightly against my chest.

  “Good,” she said. “Because I still want to marry him.”

  I squeezed her tighter and pressed my cheek against her flowing, black hair, unable to bear letting go in that moment for fear that she’d disappear forever. Doing everything I could to keep such a horrible thought from my mind, I forced a smile and closed my eyes, wishing instead for this moment to last forever.

  IV

  Alexandria

  The Mediterranean Sea

  October, 42 A.D.

  The seas were cool this time of year, even this far south, which was especially true once the sun went down. They were tranquil and placid, and on this particular night, the second since leaving Caesarea, there was no wind, so the slaves below were at their oars, methodically pulling the ship to the beat of a faint drum. As moments went, this one was as peaceful as they came, and out over the open water with no visible threats nearby, I allowed myself to close my eyes and do little more than enjoy the wind on my face.

  I stood at the helm, my favorite olive drab fleece keeping me warm, while Santino stood nearby as well. As legate of the legion, I was not only its general, but also admiral of the fleet. I had free reign to do what I wanted, but the perks really were minimal. My ship was neither big nor fancy, and my personal state room was nothing more than a secluded corner below deck, separated from everyone else by a drawn curtain.

  Admirals in the U.S. Navy back home were at least allowed pets with them.

  Or was that just in the movies? It’d been so long, I couldn’t really remember anymore.

  I did get to name my first mate, however, which was kind of cool, and I picked Santino of course. He was competent enough, and his attitude made him good with the troops and sailors. He didn’t have much of an official role, but his job was to make sure people were doing their jobs and to maintain morale. He also made sure the slaves – and I hated that word almost as much as the word ‘fate’ – were kept well fed, respected, and given some semblance of their humanity back. They wore no chains and their food was equal in portion and cleanliness to everyone else’s. They’d been surprised by that, but I was trying to do everything I could to show them that their incarceration was only temporary, although I wasn’t sure anything could convince them of my intention to free them once we reached Britain.