by James Mace
“Come!” Artorius shouted.
In walked a man he had never seen before. He was in a red tunic, though he wore a centurion’s belt and carried a vine stick.
“Can I help you?”
“My name is Lucius Tyranus,” the man replied, extending his hand. “I’m your replacement.”
Artorius stood and clasped his hand.
“Of course you are.” Though he was smiling it was one mixed with sadness. “Let’s go for a walk. Centurion Magnus, carry on.”
Chapter VI: Changing of the Guard
***
“I know what you and your men did at Braduhenna,” Tyranus said as they walked past the barracks.
“Do you now?” Artorius replied with a trace of ice in his voice. It did not seem an appropriate topic of conversation for this new centurion to address with him, and he started to take offense at the remark.
“I was an optio with the Fifth Legion at that time,” Tyranus continued, causing an immediate change in Artorius’ demeanor.
He had not asked where his successor had come from. All he knew was he did not recognize him from any of the other cohorts within the Twentieth.
“Then you experienced the same horrors we did,” Artorius surmised.
Tyranus snorted in reply. “Not hardly. While we labored with repairing the burned out bridges, you were in a fight for your lives. And at night, while your men lay in the cold damp starving and freezing, we were able to fill our bellies and warm ourselves with cloaks and fire. And when we did finally join the fray the next morning, we were only able to do so because Tribune Cursor and his ten thousand had flanked the Frisians and driven them away from the bridge.”
“Still, you should not discredit yourselves,” Artorius replied. “We were already broken, and Cursor’s ten thousand completely spent from their forty-mile trek, then going straight into battle. Had the Fifth Legion not crossed when it did, there would have been fifteen thousand Romans to bury instead of fifteen hundred.”
“I would never diminish what we did that day,” Tyranus agreed. “However, when it was over, Master Centurion Alessio admonished the men against having any delusions of thinking themselves the true saviors of the Valeria Legion. That honor rightly went to Tribune Cursor. When we joined the fight we were all fresh. Cursor’s men had conducted their arduous journey in a single day and still executed their charge. The entire Rhine Army also knows about how your century held the flank. You’re a legend.”
“Something I get really tired of hearing,” Artorius grumbled. “No one ever mentions that we had been overrun, our formation collapsed, and we were simply fighting to the death. I had been wounded multiple times and wasn’t even able to stand by the time Cursor’s cavalry relieved us. Did you know that after Braduhenna I tried to sell my hamata chainmail back to the armorers? I know it’s customary for centurions to wear either chain or scale armor; they say because of its comfort and lighter weight. However, it does not stop the repeated blows of an enemy sword that’s trying to rip out your guts.”
“You wear a ranker’s segmentata?” Tyranus asked, surprised.
“Not while in garrison,” Artorius admitted. “During training and anytime we are on parade I don the hamata. As I said, I tried to sell it back but the master centurion adamantly refused to allow it, once he got word. When I showed him the scar on my side to remind him of my wounds at Braduhenna and how my armor failed me, he relented as far as allowing me to purchase back the segmentata plate armor I had worn as a legionary; for use on campaigns only.”
They walked in silence for a few moments as Tyranus took in what his predecessor was saying. At last they stopped and faced each other. Artorius could sense that the newly-promoted centurion was uneasy about something. He decided to let the man speak as soon as he was ready.
“Listen,” Tyranus said, “I know I’m new to the centurionate. I received word a week ago that I was being transferred. My baggage won’t even be here for another two weeks. I had to take an advance on my pay in order to purchase slaves to handle moving my affairs, as well as acquiring suitable armor and accoutrements for when I take command.”
“Take command,” Artorius said quietly and shook his head. It was then he realized that while he had been so focused on his promotion and where he was going, and he was now reminded of what he was leaving behind.
“I know how much these men mean to you,” Tyranus continued. “I also know that by coming from a different legion they have no idea who I am; only that I will be replacing you who has led them for so long. I hope they will follow me like they did you.”
“Earn their trust, be their commander, and they will follow you,” Artorius assured him. “Lead by example, be fair when administering both punishment and reward, and never use your rank or position for personal gain. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. The most significant change from being an optio is that now you are absolutely responsible for the welfare of these men, both in garrison and in battle. You can delegate authority, but never responsibility.”
Tyranus thought for a moment and then nodded. They walked back to the century’s offices, where the signum was posted just outside. At the top of the standard was the customary bronze hand that signaled a unit’s eternal salute to the emperor as well as the senate and people of Rome. Encircling the palm on the Second Century’s standard was a gold wreath, signifying extreme valor, which had been awarded by Tiberius himself.
“I’ll need to choose an optio,” Tyranus observed. “Since I do not know any of these men, can you help me with selection?”
“I can give you a list of officers who have acquitted themselves most favorably,” Artorius replied. “However, I advise you take your time and get to know them yourself. As you are well aware from your own time as an optio, your second-in-command must be one whose leadership style is most compatible with your own. The simplest measure is, who would you entrust command of the century, should you fall in battle?”
“How do you think the new centurion will work out?” Valens asked after Tyranus left. “Think he’ll do right by the lads?”
“He’s a good leader,” Artorius assured him. His discussion with Tyranus had lasted a couple hours, and it was close to the end of the duty day when he returned.
“Some of the men are just a bit nervous, that’s all,” his optio-select replied. “We seem to alternate between good and bad centurions here. Though, thankfully, the bad ones don’t last long. Remember, I was here before you. My first two years we had a real prick who was almost as vile as Fulvius.”
Artorius shuddered at the mentioning of his predecessor. Six years later, and he could still smell the man’s retched breath and the stink of rotten alcohol as he stabbed him in that very office. There was even still a splotch of discoloration in the corner from where the bastard had bled to death.
“After he was discharged in disgrace,” Valens continued, “We had Macro for ten years. Then the mercifully short reign of that abhorrent shit-heap, Fulvius. And now we’ve had you for the past six years.”
“Tyranus will be fine,” Artorius asserted. “At least he’s no coward like Fulvius was; he was with the Fifth at Braduhenna.”
“Hmm,” Valens said with an approving nod. “That alone will give him a measure of immediate respect from the ranks. You understand my concern, of course. I spent my entire career so far with this century, as have you. Many old friends have long since departed, but those who replaced them are no less my brothers.”
“And the men who join us in the east will now become our brethren.”
Artorius had planned this deliberately. He had already said goodbye to everyone he needed to. The few personal possessions he had kept in the centurion’s quarters had been removed by his servant, Nathaniel, the week before. Once he relinquished command to Centurion Tyranus, he would simply walk away and hope that he would not look back.
The entire Third Cohort was assembled. All six centuries were in parade formation ten ranks deep, the decanii
standing on the extreme right of their respective squads. The signifier stood centered in front of each century, with the centurion and optio flanking him. Dominus, Centurion Pilus Prior and Commander of the Third Cohort, stood in front of the formation, Praxus next to him. Though he had received his promotion orders and wore the transverse crest of a centurion on his helmet, he was performing his last official act as optio of the Second Century. He would read the order relieving Artorius of command and assigning it to Tyranus.
Artorius, Tyranus, and the century’s signifier stood with Dominus. Artorius had told him that he did not wish to address the century, as he had already said what he needed to them. In reality, it was emotionally overwhelming for him. He had served with some of these men for his entire sixteen years in the ranks.
“Men of the Second Century!” Dominus shouted to the assembly. “Your reputation as one of the most valiant companies of fighting men ever seen in the imperial army is well deserved. For the past six years Centurion Artorius has led you through hell to immortality. Though we lament his departure, we know that he leaves with the honor of the Second Century, the Third Cohort, and the entire Twentieth Legion within his soul. We hail his ascension to the rank of centurion pilus prior and further welcome Centurion Tyranus into our ranks.” He then turned to Praxus and nodded.
As he unfurled the scroll, Artorius took the signum of the Second Century for the last time. He clutched it to his chest and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Centurion Titus Artorius Justus!” Praxus shouted. “You are relieved of command; receive now the gratitude of the Twentieth Legion for your honorable and valiant service as you pass the imperial signum to your cohort commander!”
Artorius opened his eyes and took a deep breath as he handed the standard to Dominus. “With the passing of the Signum, I relinquish command!” His booming voice echoed across the parade field.
Dominus then passed the standard to Tyranus.
“Centurion Lucius Tyranus Damian,” Praxus continued. “You are now commander of the Third Cohort’s Second Century. Accept the imperial signum!”
“With the receiving of the Signum, I assume command!” Tyranus then passed the signum back to the signifier, who turned about and marched back to his place in front of the Second Century.
Both centurions then turned to face Dominus. Though with his promotion he was now the same rank, Artorius still rendered the customary salute to his now former cohort commander before briskly walking away. He then heard Dominus give the order, “Centurion Tyranus, take command of your century!”
“Sir!” Tyranus then marched to his place at the head of the company of men Artorius had led for so long. He marched at a brisk pace and was out of sight even before Dominus dismissed the formation. He did not look back.
When Praxus caught up with him, Artorius had removed his helmet and was walking as quickly as he could towards the main gate of the fortress. Even though he was several inches taller than his friend and had a naturally longer stride, Praxus struggled to keep up with Artorius’ pace.
“Easy there, old friend,” Praxus said as they reached the gate.
Once outside the fortress, Artorius finally slowed his pace to an easy walk. “Damn it, but I’ll miss them,” he said, quickly rubbing his hand over his face.
“It’s not the end,” Praxus replied. “It’s just a new beginning.”
Artorius smiled and let out a sigh as he saw what his friend inferred.
A caravan of wagons awaited them. All of their personal possessions were stacked in chests and crates. Praxus’ wife, Lucilla, and their children waited at the front of one, along with their servants. Lady Diana was with their servants, including Proximo and Nathaniel, at the back of a wagon. Nathaniel opened a large trunk and started to help his master out of his armor. Artorius handed him his helmet and then removed his belt and the harness bearing all of his campaign medals and decorations before pulling off his armor. Once Nathaniel had taken his hamata chainmail, Artorius strapped his belt and gladius back on.
“You’re not ready to go yet?” Magnus laughed as he walked up, leading his horse.
“I admit I had a bit of a hard time saying goodbye to the Second Century after all these years,” Artorius said.
“I understand. Remember, I had more years with them than you did,” Praxus retorted before giving him a friendly slap on the back.
“And you know you didn’t leave all of us, sir,” a voice behind him said.
Artorius turned and laughed as Felix walked towards them with the thirty legionaries Macro had allowed him to take from the legion. Eight had come from his former century. Among them his adopted son, Metellus, who smiled and nodded at him. It was a relief for Artorius to have so many of his friends with him in this next chapter of his life. As he pondered for a moment, he almost pitied Centurion Tyranus. He had come from the Fifth Legion by himself and assumed command of a century in which he did not know any of the men. He then looked to his right and saw twenty more legionaries approaching him. These were the volunteers from the First Legion who had been accepted into the cohort. Their packs were bulging with all of the meager possessions a legionary could carry.
“Where do you want us, sir?” the Decanus leading them asked.
Artorius pointed them toward an empty wagon that had its tarp pulled back.
“All legionaries can store their packs and personal belongings in that wagon,” the centurion replied.
“Yes, sir,” the decanus replied. There was a murmur of relief from the soldiers. Since only centurions and options were authorized horses, they would be walking all the way to Ostia and Rome. This was nothing new for men accustomed to marching twenty-five miles per day in full kit while on campaign. However, if they could avoid carrying their packs, which were far heavier than normal with all of their possessions, so much the better. Felix and the decanii quickly formed up a work detail to stow the men’s personal baggage.
“Felix, post six men to the head of the column,” Artorius ordered, “the rest will fall in on either flank.”
“Yes, sir,” the tesserarius replied. “I also received word that the volunteers from the Fifth Legion are already posted at the second relief outpost, fifty miles from here.”
“Good,” the centurion said. “How many men are we picking up from them?”
“Twenty-four,” Magnus answered. “Between them and the lads we have with us there’s almost enough for a full century.”
“There will be a lot more by the time we get to Ostia,” Artorius replied. “I sent word for the volunteers from Hispania and North Africa to link up with us there. Given the time it is going to take for us to even get to Rome, I daresay they will spend quite a bit of time waiting for us. I received word last week that an optio from the praetorian guard named Cornelius has been selected to command one of our centuries. I sent a message that all volunteers are to report to him. He will keep accountability of our lads until we arrive.”
“A bloody praetorian,” Valens spat as he joined his friends. “I hate those pompous twats!”
“I checked his service record, and he does have some line experience,” Artorius replied. “He was among the praetorian cohorts that stormed the Angrivari stronghold alongside us.”
“Well, I have to give him some respect for that,” Valens conceded. “I just hope fifteen years of policing the streets of Rome and serving as one of Sejanus’ pets hasn’t ruined him.” As they continued their banter, the decanus from the First Legion walked over with a map in his hands.
“Sir, I’ve been checking our route of march,” he said. “If we skirt south and west to avoid the snow of the Alpes, it will take us at least a month to get to Rome.”
“You’ve never been to Rome, sergeant?” Artorius asked.
“No, sir,” the man replied. “I was born and raised in Belgica.”
Artorius raised an eyebrow and then remembered that with the empire being as vast as it was, the majority of legionaries who had sworn to defend Rome with their
lives had probably never seen the Eternal City. The soldiers who expanded the empire during its years of conquest often settled in the areas near their last posting. Cities sprung up in their wake, bringing Roman culture to the far corners of the known world. Over generations many of their descendants would carry on the tradition of serving in the legions. When the young decanus first enlisted as a legionary, it only made sense to post him to the nearest legion where there were always vacancies, rather than sending him clear across the empire. The only reason Artorius and Magnus had been sent so far from home when they first joined was because there were no legions posted near their homes in Ostia. That, and all reinforcements were sent to the Rhine to fight in the Germanic wars.
“Well, you are correct,” Artorius stated. “If we can arrange transport from the port city of Massilia, that will save us at least an additional week on the march. Once assembled in Rome, we will take ship to Caesarea; about ten days of sailing under ideal conditions.”
“So anticipate an additional week retching over the side of a ship,” Valens added, drawing a chuckle from Artorius.
“By the time we get to Judea, all of us will have a better understanding of just how large the empire really is.”
Chapter VII: Across the Empire
***
Thirteen days into their journey and the volunteers of the First Italic Cohort arrived in Augusta Raurica, at the northern base of the Alpes; the vast mountain range that separated Italia from its northern provinces. It was midafternoon and the city was swarmed with legionaries who were there on holiday. The Emperor Augustus had commissioned numerous recreation buildings for the city, and it served as a place that soldiers were sent on leave.
“The men could use some leisure time,” Praxus said as he eyed the anxious faces of their legionaries.
“They do look a bit worn,” Magnus concurred.
They had been marching for almost two weeks and were starting to show all the signs of wear. Even without having to carry their heavy packs, two weeks of straight marching, at twenty-five miles per day, took its toll. Thankfully, the trek had been largely uneventful, with the conglomerate of men from various legions following the main road that ran north to south along the Rhine.
