by James Mace
“It is as I feared,” Indus said as the two men rode towards Lugdunum.
“What do you mean?” Cursor asked.
“Sacrovir’s rebellion has found an heir,” Indus replied. Cursor swallowed hard. He knew that Indus had initially been one of Sacrovir’s most trusted lieutenants before turning on him and bringing his regiment to fight for Rome. That time spent in Sacrovir’s camp had given Indus insight into the rebel army that no one else possessed.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I can hazard a guess.” Indus cursed himself that he had not elected to excavate the burned and crumbled remains of Sacrovir’s estate. Though most of the bodies would have been charred beyond recognition, some effort should have been made to identify all of the leaders to make certain they had perished. Proculus’ note had not gone into detail, but it did mention a slave under torture giving away the name of his Greek master.
Of all of Sacrovir’s confidants, that psychotic Greek, Heracles had disturbed Indus the most. The only other man as wicked in soul was the Sequani chief, Taranis who mercifully had been slain during the Battle of Augustodunum. Whatever drove Heracles it wasn’t love of liberty. Darkness consumed him and Indus had seen it in his eyes. He had hated being left alone with the man, although Heracles had always been polite and cordial with him. He could not imagine the turn of events had Heracles known of Indus’ intentions to betray Sacrovir and Florus. If Heracles was still alive and out for revenge, Indus knew he would be among those that the Greek would try to focus his wrath.
“Ah, Indus my old friend,” Heracles said quietly in contemplation as he twirled the dagger point on the table. Radek stood across the table from him, hands folded. He looked up when his master mentioned that name.
“You know him, don’t you?” Heracles asked, a wicked sneer forming.
“It was his cavalry that trampled us into the dirt,” Radek replied, his voice venomous with hate. “Their lances rendered me the half-cripple that I am now and sent me to those cursed mines.” Heracles jammed the dagger point into the table at Radek’s last remark.
“Then it is time Indus paid the debt he owes to us. There is a large slaver camp about four days’ march from here. We have enough men to overrun the guards. The slaves will then be freed on condition they fight for us.”
“A plan similar to the one we executed in the city,” Radek observed.
“Quite,” his master acknowledged. “Some may view our previous sortie as a failure, given those pathetic whelps’ inability to kill a single legionary. However, the civil unrest brought about made the venture a success. Citizens of Lugdunum now cringe at the thought of large slave markets within their city’s walls unless they are constantly patrolled by either the urban cohort or legionaries. The Romans have not the men to spare for such menial duties, as they are tasked to the last man in a vain effort to hunt us down. The city magistrate himself has placed a moratorium on slave markets within the city’s walls.
“Indus’ Horse has been alerted and will soon be helping the Roman force in their search. By raiding the slaver camp they will have to send their cavalry to suppress the situation. They have not the legionaries to spare; and even if they did it would take too long for them to reach the camp.” Radek grinned in anticipation of the rest of Heracles’ plan. Of all the Romans he had fought against, he loathed the men of Indus’ Horse the most. He could still feel the pain of the lance that hobbled his leg and rendered his back open. He thought about his companions who he had watched torn to pieces by the ferocity of Indus’ onslaught. His only real friend, Ellard, had his guts ripped from his body by a Roman lance; he had died a slow and horrifyingly painful death.
“When do we leave, master?”
“Tonight; we will rally at the old mill and leave by boat. The Romans have patrols on the streets at night, but they have sorely neglected to watch the river.”
There was an abandoned mill down by the river. Heracles had placed a pair of men there to determine whether or not it could prove useful. They had repaired the old boats that were moored on the backside of the mill and they were now ready for use. Heracles had sent his minions to the mill a few at a time throughout the day. Daytime provided an excellent cover, what with all the activity within the city. Only he and Radek arrived after dark. There were a few buildings down by the mill, but for the most part it was away from the heart of the city and oddly enough an area that the Romans had neglected to patrol. The door was opened for the two men; they walked inside and removed their hoods.
Heracles took a moment to assess the mill and its usefulness. It was an enormous building; large enough house a couple hundred men if need be. Though it was very old, it appeared to be sturdy enough. His men had been busy cleaning away the cobwebs, dust, and rodent shit. He then smiled inwardly. When the time came he knew where he would reestablish himself.
“Is everything ready?” he asked.
“Yes Master,” replied the man who had opened the door. His voice was raspy, and indeed he was the same man who had goaded the slaves into fighting the legionaries in the city. Heracles raised his hand and pointed towards the back doorway, beyond which the boats were moored. No more words needed to be spoken; each man knew what needed to be done.
Daylight had broken an hour before Indus and Cursor arrived at the Cohort’s Principia. Centurion Proculus stood outside awaiting their arrival.
“Indus my old friend!” Proculus said with great enthusiasm as he clasped the hand of the cavalry commander. A native of Gaul, Indus was a few inches taller than the Centurion; his light brown hair cut short and his face clean-shaven like his Roman counterparts. Behind him walked a man wearing a muscled cuirass breastplate and a Tribune’s helmet under his left arm.
“You remember Tribune Cursor?” Indus asked, pointing to the young man. Proculus nodded and saluted.
“Sir,” he said as Cursor returned the salute, “good to see you again. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, since Augustodunum in fact,” the Tribune replied. “I was but an auxiliary regimental commander then.” Cursor was a young, though highly experienced officer.
“And now Silius wants to place him in charge of the Rhine army’s entire cavalry force,” Indus added. “Hence why he is now working with me. It seems someone spread a nasty rumor that I know a thing or two about cavalry tactics.”
“You know more than just a thing or two,” Cursor emphasized. “I dare say there isn’t a more sound cavalry officer in the whole of the empire!”
“Flattery will get you everywhere with me you know,” Indus said with a wink. Proculus gave a short laugh.
“Well I dare say I will have some work for your men yet,” he said as the three men walked over towards the Principia.
It was an odd situation for Cursor. In terms of rank and position he was the senior of the three men; however he knew his role with Indus was strictly as an observer while he tried to learn as much as he could. Regardless of rank, Lugdunum and the surrounding region militarily fell under the jurisdiction of Proculus and his legionaries. The Centurion and Indus had developed a close bond during the rebellion, particularly during a rather harrowing battle in the mountain passes west of Augusta Raurica. Their combined forces had numbered less than fifteen-hundred men, and yet they had completely routed an enemy force that had the advantage of terrain, as well as a three-to-one numerical advantage.
Cursor found he was a bit envious of the men’s relationship. The position of Tribune in charge of an auxiliary regiment was indeed a lonely one. Most Tribunes held their posts for a single campaign season, and yet he kept returning to the ranks. He had held numerous administrative posts and found they bored him immensely. His only peer that he had any kind of a bond with was Pontius Pilate, but even he was gone; his friendship with Sejanus garnering him the position of Deputy Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. Cursor had been effective enough in leading his regiment into battle, and yet even there his social status had prevented him from forming bonds wi
th any of his men, even the Centurions. That and he had never felt at home in an infantry unit.
“So what have you got?” Indus asked as he and Cursor sat down across from Proculus at a table in the room the Pilus Prior used for conducting briefings with his Centurions and Options.
“As you know, there has been a serious of murders taking place in and around the city,” Proculus explained. “We think they are linked to survivors of Sacrovir’s rebellion. I’ve got the urban cohort searching the city and my legionaries scouring the countryside; however with the size of the city and the sheer number of farms and estates in the region I just don’t have the manpower. What I especially need is a mobile force. These bastards have been hitting settlements ten miles or better from the city; too far for my legionaries to react in time. How many men are you bringing with you?”
“I’ve placed the entire regiment on alert,” Indus replied, “however with the missions already assigned to us, I can only comfortably bring about two hundred and fifty.”
“That should be more than sufficient,” Proculus said after a moment’s contemplation. “To be honest we have no idea how large of a group we are dealing with. It could be just a handful of renegades seeking to terrorize the populace, or it could be the start of a fresh rebellion.” As he listened to the Centurion’s explanation of the situation, Indus traced his finger over Proculus’ map, stopping just south of a group of mountains to the north.
“There are a large number of estates and settlements in this region, about three days march from here,” he observed. “A prime target for the rebels, yet too far for your men to react effectively; and this terrain will work against my cavalry. What chance is there that you can dispatch some men to cover this area?” Proculus exhaled loudly.
“I can send perhaps two centuries, but no more. Thankfully the regions to the south are relatively free of settlements. If you can augment my force with one hundred of your men, the rest can be used to conduct searches of the region.”
“There’s a farmhouse that’s just south of the mountain pass,” Cursor spoke up. “It would make the perfect staging area.”
“Then that’s where you will make for tomorrow at dawn,” Indus directed. The Tribune gave him a perplexed look; not certain if he had heard correctly.
“Come again?” he asked. Indus gave a half-smile.
“This will be the perfect opportunity for you to exercise some independent command,” Indus explained. “Reconnoiter the area and start fortifying the farmhouse while waiting for the legionaries to arrive. Take a few denarii with you as well; we must make certain the owners are properly recompensed for their troubles.”
“A few sheckles will buy just about anything,” Cursor replied with a snort.
“I’ll send Macro and Vitruvius with their Centuries,” Proculus added. “Once they arrive your men can start scouring the area for any sign of the rebels. My legionaries will be your reaction force, so be certain to keep them close.”
Kiana had taken to staying around the flats that housed the legionaries. Every so often she would catch a glimpse of the man she had come to know as The Beast. In truth the young Decanus was a very attractive man, though in Kiana’s mind he was nothing more than an instrument of horror. She leaned back against the wall of an alley, her face only partially concealed by her hooded cloak. Her eyes closed, she wondered how it was she had come to this feeling of utter hatred. Inside she was torn over her feelings and could only rationalize that perhaps she had been in such a state of shock following Farquhar’s death that she did not have the will to hate.
As she opened her eyes she was startled to see a group of legionaries walking along the road towards her, the beast amongst them. Quickly she covered her face and turned her back on them. She started to slip away, eyes on the ground, when she stumbled into a man, who had not seen her either.
“Hey what the bloody hell…” the man said with a start as collided. Kiana sat upright quickly, her eyes wide as she recognized Legionary Felix.
“Kiana, what are you doing here, child?” he asked.
“Um…I, uh…I came looking for you,” she said, beads of nervous sweat running down her forehead.
“Really?” Felix was perplexed as to why Kiana would need to come see him of all people.
“Yes,” she emphasized, and then glancing over to where the other group of legionaries was walking away, parallel to the building they stood next to. “Tell me first; who is that man, the one with all the muscles?”
“That’s Sergeant Artorius, one of the Decanii from my Century,” Felix answered, still baffled by the girl’s presence.
Sergeant Artorius, Kiana thought to herself. The beast has a name. She then spoke aloud, “come, we need to talk.” With that she took Felix by the arm and led him down the alley, away from the barracks flats. So curious was the legionary as to what she wanted to talk about that he did not protest. Once they had reached a quiet corner, away from the bustle of the busy streets, Kiana turned to face him.
“So tell me,” she said, a coy grin on her face, “what exactly is your relationship with my sister?” It was the only topic she could think of offhand, and one that she found she was in fact curious to know about. Felix’s face turned a slight shade of red.
“You probably figured out that Tierney and I are more than just friends,” he admitted.
“It wasn’t difficult,” Kiana stated, folding her arms across her chest with her grin spreading.
“She talks about you all the time,” Felix said, trying to break the silence. “I know of your loss and I am sorry.”
“I’ve seen the standards of your unit before, haven’t I?” Kiana tried to fight the urge of putting Felix on the spot like that, though she did enjoy watching his discomfort. Felix lowered and shook his head, letting out a sigh.
“Yes you have,” he replied quietly. To most civilians Roman soldiers look the same and they rarely differentiated between the various legions. With a little research, though, one could easily find out exactly what unit had served in what campaign, even down to the exact actions fought. “I am sorry…not for what we did, but that you had to suffer as a consequence.”
“I understand,” she replied with a sad smile. “You were doing your duty and my beloved was betrayed by those who should have protected him.” Felix took this as a statement perhaps against the boy’s family or mentors who should have stopped him from joining the rebellion, though Kiana’s meaning was more literal. She thought once more about the cowards who had run from battle, leaving Farquhar and his friends to their deaths.
“Come, I’ll walk you home,” Felix said, taking Kiana by the arm. She gladly accepted his offer, having found out all she needed to know.
“Tell me Felix,” she said once they were out of the bustle of the main streets. “What prompted you to join the legions?” The young legionary laughed at the question.
“Your sister asked me the exact same thing. To be honest, I had little choice if I wanted to make something of my life.” He then explained his father’s noble birth and that he was a bastard who his father despised. He told her about his mother and how she did everything within her power to get his father to sign the letter of introduction that not only acknowledged Felix as his son, but also allowed him to enlist in the legions.
“Any siblings?” Kiana asked at length, to which Felix nodded.
“Two brothers. Granted they are practically old enough to be my father. No sisters, though. I told Tierney on a couple of occasions that I always wanted a little sister.” Kiana found herself unable to stop from smiling at the veiled meaning to his words. “I just wonder how long before your father betroths her to someone else.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that for a while,” Kiana replied. “Remember, most of the nobles around our age were either killed or impoverished. Tierney was rather anxious to accompany me when Father sent me here. Her fear was that he would marry her off to one of his friends, and the last thing she wants is to be wed to
some fat, creepy old man who will probably leave her a widow by the time she’s twenty-five; let alone the idea of having intimate relations with one that is old, wrinkled, and sloppy in appearance.”
“Such marriages are not uncommon in this day and age,” Felix replied with a shrug. Kiana stared at him with a look of revulsion on her face.
“That doesn’t make it right!” she retorted. “Yes, I understand that a woman’s primary role is to provide heirs for our husbands and that many men reach old age before they are able to sire sons. And unfortunately, the higher a woman’s social birth the more likely she will be used as a political pawn for her father and future husband. That is our lot in life and we cannot change it…but please understand that most of us would still rather at least be bound to someone closer to our age rather than our parents’.”
“Well perhaps someone will be able to save your sister from such an ignominious fate,” Felix ventured. Kiana smiled once more.
“Perhaps,” she replied. As unreal as it seemed, she was beginning to see why her sister loved this legionary. Felix was genuinely a good person; not so very different than her friends that she still mourned. Would it be possible for her to hate Artorius and allow herself to care for Felix, or were they too closely intertwined? She did not know.
“Well this will be the last time I see you for a while,” Felix said, startling Kiana out of her reverie. She hadn’t realized that they had arrived at the house she shared with her sister. As Kiana turned to face Felix he continued his explanation. “I’m going to be out of the city for a while; not too long I hope.” After he left, Kiana leaned against a column the supported the overhang outside the main entrance. She suspected she knew where Felix and his fellow legionaries were headed. As soon as darkness fell she left the house in her hooded cloak, for regardless of her initial fond feelings for Felix she had an obligation to pass on what he had told her.
