Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “Oh, Grandfather I want you to meet…” his words were cut short as Olaf punched him behind the ear, knocking him to the ground once more.

  “You wanton harlot! I didn’t say we were done!” Olaf then grunted and waved his hand dismissively at his grandson before turning his attention to Artorius. “Ah, and you must be Artorius. Ye gods, but you’re a big one!” Artorius laughed at the assessment.

  Age had robbed Olaf of some of his height, though according to Magnus he never was very tall to begin with. He was just a hair shorter than Artorius, with a long mustache that was braided on either side of his face. His still-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, underneath a skull cap helmet. Though his appearance made him look like a barbarian, he was in fact very well dressed and his grooming and hygiene were immaculate.

  “And you must be the famous Olaf,” Artorius replied with a chuckle. The old man gave him a friendly but hard punch on the shoulder.

  “Don’t be such a bastard!” he bellowed. “I know you wanted to say Mad Olaf. It is okay lad, I don’t find the name offensive at all.”

  “No, in fact he relishes it,” Magnus said as he rose to his feet, massaging the sore spot behind his ear that was starting to turn purple. “No other man shows such boisterous affection towards his grandchildren!”

  “Hey, it keeps you sissy girls tough and on your toes!” Olaf retorted as he walked back towards his horse; a magnificent stallion that looked much too large for the old Norseman to handle. And yet he effortlessly vaulted into the saddle. Off of one of the saddle bags hung a very old, but well-maintained battle axe. The wooden handle was sun bleached and the blade bore the scars of countless battles, yet there was not a spot of rust to be found. The two friends walked on either side of the old man as they made their way back towards Ostia.

  “Your sister will be happy to see you finally,” Olaf said, catching Magnus’ attention.

  “Svetlana’s here?” he asked excitedly. Last time he had seen his sister she had been just shy of womanhood.

  “No, not here,” Olaf replied with a shake of his head. “She’s back in Lugdunum. She had been visiting me and was accompanying me back to Lugdunum to see you. But when you were not to be found, she elected to stay and await your return, lest she should miss you. It’s no big deal; a good friend of yours is looking after her.”

  “Which friend?” Magnus asked with some trepidation. The term friend could be used very loosely, especially when it came to someone offering to ‘look after’ his little sister.

  “I’m trying to think of his name…” Olaf contemplated. “A fine fellow, that one; told me where the best spots in the city were to relieve my swollen loins! I think his name started with a V…” A look of horror crossed Magnus’ face and his stared at his grandfather wide-eyed.

  “Valens?” he asked with a start. Olaf smacked his thigh and chuckled.

  “Yep, that’s the name! A good man that one!” Artorius burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Grandfather, you left my baby sister with Valens?” Magnus was horrified at the thought. “He’s the single biggest pervert I’ve ever met! The man will fuck anything that’s human with a cunt between its legs! I don’t want him anywhere near Svetlana!” Artorius meanwhile was laughing so hard that he had to grab a hold of Magnus in order to stop from falling over. “You’re not helping things, you know!” Magnus retorted as he shoved his friend off.

  “I’m sorry,” Artorius replied, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “It’s just that the look on your face…”

  “Oh Magnus, quit being such a big girl’s blouse!” Olaf replied with a friendly back-fist to the ear. “Your sister is hardly a baby anymore. Damn girl is taller than I am and very fit.” Magnus groaned at the thought of what temptation that would be for Valens, who while very much a friend was still someone that the Norseman did not want cavorting with his sister. “Svetlana can take care of herself, no worries,” Olaf continued. “The lad’s been nothing but a complete gentleman to her. Now stop fussing about it; you’re making young Odin here nervous!” He tugged gently on the reigns of his horse as if to emphasize his point. “At any rate, I’ll be coming with you back to Lugdunum. A fine city, that! Your Uncle Gunnar is seeing to my affairs while I’m out.” The two legionaries walked alongside the old Norseman and his horse for some time before Artorius elected to break the silence.

  “Olaf, I understand you were at Actium,” he observed. A beaming smile crossed the old man’s face.

  “Ay, I was,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I went back to Rome a few years ago for the fiftieth anniversary celebrations. Sadly there are but a few of us left. I cannot believe it’s been more than fifty years. It sometimes feels like it was just last week. I was not a young man even then and yet so many of the veterans look so…well, old.”

  It was not until they returned to Olaf’s lodgings that he continued in his story. It was a very high-class inn that only those with extravagant taste and plenty of coin could afford. So when the half-mad Norseman showed up the owners were at first keen to turn him away. Though his clothes were expensive and his hair and hygiene well maintained, he still looked ‘barbaric’ to them. It was then that he produced his pouch full of coin that changed their demeanor towards him. When he showed up with the two legionaries the patriarch of the inn was immediately out the door to take Olaf’s horse personally and see to his needs.

  “Will you need anything else?” the man asked as Olaf dismounted.

  “Yes, bring us some of your finest mead!” he answered before turning to Artorius and Magnus. “Come lads, let’s get drunk and tell some stories!” Magnus was still distracted, thinking about his sister and Valens. Artorius had to give him a hard nudge with his elbow to bring him back to his senses. Magnus just shook his head.

  “Would you get over your sister and Valens already?” Artorius chastised. Magnus gave a short laugh.

  “It’s not that…I know how Olaf gets when he’s on the mead.”

  Approximately twenty men were lined up in front of Heracles. Hand-picked from dregs of society, they would serve him and him alone. In similar fashion to how Sacrovir had chosen his inner circle, Heracles had selected men with little left to lose. He had sought those of the most bitter and vile nature that they would do even the most repugnant of deeds for him. Some were thieves, others rapists, more murders, and some were a combination of all. Most were hiding from law and were grateful for the shelter and sense of stability that Heracles provided. It also helped that they would no longer be left starving to death in the gutters, to be feasted upon by rabid dogs. Now they would become the wild beasts that would prey upon the populace.

  “What orders does Master have for us?” one man asked with his voice raspy; almost like the hiss of a snake. Radek’s face broke into a wicked sneer, though Heracles remained stoic.

  “We have work to do,” he answered simply.

  “Know that we will serve you, Master…even unto death!” the man with the raspy voice hissed. He kept his face hidden, though from what Heracles could see, the man’s hideousness was matched only by Radek’s mutilated face.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” the Greek replied calmly. “And my enemy is now your enemy.”

  “Rome is the enemy of any who loves freedom!” one of the men snarled. “They’ve perverted our lands long enough. I would rather see Lugdunum burn to the ground than have it occupied by those vile imperialists for another day.”

  “And burn will any who stand against us,” the man with the rasp spoke up. Heracles could not contain his grin. He had thought that finding men of such blind loyalty would be difficult and expensive, and yet it had been all too easy.

  Artorius never had much of a taste for mead; it was far too sweet for him. Even so, he took a goblet that Olaf offered him and was quite pleased. It was certainly more potent than most wines or ales he had drank in the past. Magnus downed his cup in a single pull and immediately asked for more.

  “As I was saying,” Olaf s
aid with a loud belch, “it’s been more than fifty years since we fought at Actium. What a day that was! Mine was among the few auxilia units honored with serving aboard Agrippa’s ships! I of course was not much for boating, so I doubled my mead ration before the battle and kept a flask with me, just in case nerves got the best of me!” He downed another goblet to emphasize this point as Magnus broke into laughter.

  “Grandfather, I don’t think nerves have ever gotten the best of you!” he said with a broad grin.

  “They bloody well did when I was in the middle of the sea on a rocking boat wearing fifty pounds of crap!” Olaf retorted. “It was a hard call to make; either I keep my mail on, knowing that if I went over the side I would surely drown, or remove my armor and run the risk of being felled by any weapon the enemy carried! Needless to say, I stayed fully armored.

  “With four hundred vessels, our fleet had just a few more actual ships than Antony. However, ours were much smaller liburnian ships with only two rows of oarsmen. It was tales I told of the bravery of these men that prompted Magnus’ brother, Oleg, to become one of them! Antony’s fleet consisted mostly of the quinquereme class; ships much larger than ours. In fact, they had three rows of oars, with the top row requiring two men per oar. So even though we had more ships, as far as manpower was concerned, Antony bore a slight advantage to us. Even so, an outbreak of malaria had caused a severe shortage of rowers for his boats. This turn of events proved fatal.”

  “That must have been quite a sight,” Artorius observed, his chin resting in his right hand, an empty goblet rolling between the fingers of the other. A servant-the master of the house in fact-quickly refilled his cup.

  “Ay, it was quite a sight,” Olaf recalled. “Mind you, we had our small piece of the battle to stay focused on; much like you men did during your battles against the Cherusci and Gallic rebels. Besides, by the time we engaged I was pretty well lit out of my mind! Thankfully when we took a shower of arrows from a flanking ship, I still had the presence of mind to fall into the testudo formation with the rest of the lads! I couldn’t stop from laughing, even as arrows skipped off our linked shields.

  “Well before that there was quite the wait, which was very tiresome since I had run out of mead and was constantly having to piss. We had encircled the harbor and were basically trying to wait Antony and the Alexandrian Twat out. Did you know there was a bet amongst every ship in the fleet as to which crew was going to capture and ravage the little harlot first? I never saw what was so attractive about that big-nosed trollop to begin with, especially after Caesar and Antony had had their old-man hands all over her…but hey, I figured I could give her a good shagging for the sake of my country!” Artorius could not help but laugh at Olaf’s constant sidebars to his story. His words were starting to slur as he downed his fifth cup of mead. Magnus was pacing himself a bit while keeping an eye on his grandfather.

  “At any rate,” Olaf continued. “What Antony did not know was that one of his generals; a fine fellow named Delius, had betrayed him and given Octavian and Agrippa his entire scheme of battle! So when Antony had to extend his line because he could not concentrate his forces without getting flanked, he wore out his already sick oarsmen before they even got to us. We hammered them with catapult and ballista fire, staying easily out of range of their three-ton rams. Only once did we end up boarding a vessel. We sank one with our own ram; and I almost went over the side trying to board it as we backed away! When we finally did get a chance for some fighting, the enemy was pretty well spent. In fact, I think I only killed maybe one or two during the entire battle, and I was one of the lucky ones! It was from the prow of the captured vessel that we saw the Ptolemaic Twat bugger off with her entire fleet! Bloody cowards did not even try and engage us. I hate to admit it, but my most famous battle is the one I played the littlest part in.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Actium,” Magnus said, staring into his mead. “I would like to see the monument Octavian erected on the site of the battle.”

  “I admit it is impressive,” Olaf concurred. “The rams of enemy ships were mounted in sockets on a massive stone monument. Two in every three of Antony’s ships were captured or sunk. It made for quite the display! Ah, but that was a long time ago…” His voice drifted off as his head fell onto the table. Soon a loud snoring was heard echoing throughout the room.

  “I thought you said Olaf went completely insane when he’s on the mead?” Artorius asked, looking at his friend, puzzled. Magnus could only shrug in reply.

  “Perhaps old age is catching up to him after all…” the young Norseman started to reply.

  “I’ll show you old age, you sodden bastard!” Olaf yelled as he leaped over the table and tackled his grandson out of his chair. Artorius signaled for a servant to bring him some water as he sat back and watched Magnus and his grandfather roll on the floor, beating each other without mercy. As much as he was acquiring a taste for mead, he knew that if he did not drink plenty of water too he would have a headache in the morning to match the one he knew his friend and deranged grandfather would surely have.

  Chapter VI: All Power

  At last the city of Lugdunum was coming into view once more. As good as it was to see home and his family; Artorius was relieved to be back with his men. The joy of going home had been tempered by Camilla’s death. As he leaned against the railing, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the River Rhodanus, he was joined by Magnus and Olaf. The two Norsemen were looking better than they had recently, the extensive bruising on their faces subsiding over the last two weeks.

  “You two are looking better,” Artorius observed with a grin. Magnus snorted and Olaf waved a hand dismissively.

  “You have to admit, that was some fine mead!” Olaf said boisterously. “And to think my whelp of a grandson here had the audacity to call me old!”

  “I suppose it would be more appropriate to say you are advanced in years,” Magnus replied, “though you’ll never allow yourself to grow old.”

  “That’s because the idea of becoming an old man terrifies the piss out of me,” Olaf retorted. Artorius laughed and shook his head. Olaf had to at least be in his eighties, and yet he was scared of becoming an old man. “I’ve seen stooped, old men who are probably young enough to be my sons. It’s not that they were crippled in battle-which is about the only noble way of becoming an invalid-but rather they just refused to take care of what the gods gave them and allowed themselves to fall into a decrepit state. Pathetic, I tell you! I’ll still be fighting my great-grandchildren when I’m a hundred years old.” He slammed his fist against his chest to emphasize his point as Magnus slowly walked away from him.

  As the ship docked in the Lugdunum harbor Artorius saw a tall Scandinavian woman that he surmised was Magnus’ sister, Svetlana. However it was not she that Magnus rushed to greet as he disembarked the ship.

  “Valens, you fucking prick!” the Norseman bellowed as his friend stepped quickly away from his sister. Magnus dropped his pack and started after Valens, only to feel a hard slap across his ear as Svetlana quickly stepped between.

  “And who’s the fucking prick who can’t even say hello to his baby sister after all these years!” she bellowed at him, reminiscent of Olaf. Svetlana was hardly a baby; in fact she was a hair taller than her brother.

  “Magnus, I swear I’ve behaved myself!” Valens said from a distance.

  “Indeed he has,” Svetlana asserted. “So is my big brother going to greet me or do I have to demonstrate on you what Grandfather taught me?” She emphasized her last point with another cuff across the ear. Artorius tried to keep from laughing. It would seem that Magnus’ entire family was prone to physical violence as a means of affection.

  “I told you she had some spunk to her,” Olaf whispered in Artorius ear with some scarcely contained laughter.

  “By Odin you’ve grown!” Magnus said, seeming to notice his sister for the first time. Relieved that as far as he knew Valens had kept his lecherous hands off of Svetlana he felt
more comfortable embracing her. “All these years I’ve remembered you as an awkward little girl and now you’re a woman.” As he bent to pick up his pack he cringed when saw Svetlana take Valens’ hand in hers. “I thought you said he behaved!”

  “He has,” Svetlana replied coyly, “but that doesn’t mean I have.” Magnus groaned in reply as Artorius smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, at least Valens finally found himself someone respectable!” The look Magnus gave him clearly stated he was not happy with the situation and was ready to give Artorius the beating of his life if he said one more word.

  “It is with a heavy heart that I come before Rome’s ruling fathers today,” Tiberius said, his voice carrying throughout the Senate house. The assembly shifted nervously in their seats, never certain as to their Emperor’s demeanor and usually guessing wrong at his intentions. Haterius Agrippa was particularly nervous, though he felt certain that he had acted with the Emperor’s best intentions in mind. He stood to voice these concerns; however, Tiberius raised a hand silencing him.

  “I do not doubt that this august body acted with the interests of both and my son,” the Emperor continued. “The loyalty of the Senate is something I am eternally grateful for. However, when seeking to protect the person of the Emperor, one must be just, but temperate when dispensing justice.

  “Know that I thank Senator Agrippa for his zeal in coming to the defense of my son after the insults of a foolish man. I also thank Senator Lepidus for not only his loyalty, but also his prudence and level-headed voice of reason. Words, good senators, are not deeds. Had Priscus spoken of treasonous plots against my person or that of my son, of course I would expect the law to exact justice in its more extreme. However, no such treason was evident in Priscus’ words; written or spoken.” He paused to allow the senators to absorb what had been said. As usual, there was a lot of nervous shuffling as each man tried to gather the full extent of Tiberius’ meaning. In his mind he was being straightforward and expecting the senate to act on its own sense of reason. In their minds, however, the Emperor was ambiguous in his remarks and left further confusion. Finally Senator Lepidus stood to address the assembly.