Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “How absurd would it be if we died now, after all we’ve been through?” she said over the howling wind and near-continuous rolling thunder.

  As if the gods were answering her directly, a bolt of lightning speared the lower cross brace that held the now reefed main sail. A fierce blast of wind caused the ship to heave backwards as it surged through another massive wave, snapping the brace, which flew over the back of the ship, taking the sail with it.

  “Well, that’s not good,” Artorius said as calmly as he could manage.

  As quickly as the storm had fallen on them, it had passed. It was now late afternoon, the sun shone brightly, and there was scarcely a cloud in the deep blue sky. Both sailors and legionaries were in a state of mild shock at still being alive. The deck was completely soaked, and as crewmen sought to make what repairs they could, soldiers were attempting to dry out their armor, weapons, and kit.

  Centurion Artorius and Commander Stoppello looked up at the mast and main sail. What remained of the sail was in tatters, the mast cracked in places and a central crossbeam missing. The other ship was nowhere to be seen.

  “Think they bought it?” Felix asked as he joined the men.

  “Can’t say for certain,” Stoppello replied. “That we have not seen any wreckage is a hopeful sign...”

  The tesserarius nodded and turned to his centurion. “Sir, we’ve got the lads drying their gear. Cicero is trying to find his chest of oil and polish so that our armor doesn’t rust. However, with the entire deck being an absolute shambles, he’s not even sure if we still have it or if it was swept over the side.”

  “Do what you can,” Artorius said with a nod.

  Felix saluted and returned to the lower deck.

  “I lost three sailors in that gods’ awful storm,” Stoppello observed aloud. “Two were taken away while trying to secure the main sail, the other was swept off the back deck.”

  “I am sorry,” the centurion replied.

  “They died doing their duty. And it looks like we’ll be rowing our way to Caesarea.”

  “We have over a dozen broken oars,” Hansi replied as he joined them. “I’ve got half the crews rowing, the rest bailing all the water we took on. The bottom deck is almost completely filled, makes me wonder how we’re even still afloat!”

  “This will slow things down considerably,” Artorius noted. He turned to the commander. “How long till we get to Caesarea now?”

  Stoppello exhaled audibly and paused a few seconds while he did some quick calculations.

  “Well, I’ve only got so many crewmen who can man the oars,” he replied. “It’s not like I can have them rowing day and night.”

  “Put my legionaries to work then,” Artorius responded. “Hell, I’ll take an oar myself if I have to.”

  “Let’s just say that if we can have the oars going constantly, I still predict at least an additional week, maybe two. We will need to stop off for provisions and to conduct what repairs we can. Thankfully, Cnossus, on the northern side of the Isle of Crete is only about a day from here.” Stoppello turned to Hansi. “Alter course to the northwest.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sailing master replied before heading down below deck.

  The stairs were crammed with oarsmen, who were in a long line, passing buckets full of water up from the bottom deck.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Artorius asserted to the ship’s captain. “I will task my men to fill in as replacements on the oars to provide relief to your crews as much as possible. And as soon as they finish drying their kit, I will task them with helping your sailors as much as they are able, without being in the way.”

  As Alaric manned his oar once more, he was astonished to still be alive. In his superstitious young mind, the gods were punishing him for having taken up with a Roman vessel. He had faced plenty of storms during his time on merchant ships, but nothing like the fury unleashed on them that day. He was now rowing alone, as his oar mate was among those tasked with bilging out the lower deck. This added great strain, though being of strong Germanic stock, he managed far better than some of his companions. He watched as Hansi came below deck and spoke a few words to the drummer.

  “Port side, hold fast!” the drummer ordered.

  Alaric and those on the opposite side continued to row, turning the ship.

  Hansi was calculating their rate of rotation and after a few moments gave subsequent orders to the drummer. “All oars, cruising speed!”

  The beating cadence picked up once more and the battered ship lurched to the northeast.

  The call to Cnossus had been a reprieve for sailor and legionary alike, though most grumbled that their stay was far too short. Valens, in particular, lamented that he had only been able to sample a small portion of the exotic experiences to be found within the port city.

  “We were at least able to purchase new oars and inspect the structural integrity of the ship,” Commander Stoppello said as Artorius joined him and Hansi on the pier.

  “Unfortunately, the main mast is completely unsound,” Hansi added. “She’s cracked in so many places that even if we could acquire another sail, it wouldn’t hold.”

  “So what happens now?” Artorius asked.

  “Well,” Stoppello began. “We can either wait a week for local craftsmen to fashion us a new mast and sail; which will cost us a fortune, mind you, or we can row the rest of the way to Caesarea and have the Roman Navy conduct the repairs.”

  “How long will it take us to reach Judea under oars?”

  “Close to a week,” Stoppello answered, “maybe less if your legionaries prove adept at rowing and can gain us a couple extra hours per day.”

  “At this rate, all the officers’ household baggage will arrive before we do,” Artorius remarked sarcastically.

  It was not true, of course. The convoy of oxcarts had broken off from the group at Massilia and was making its way by land across northern Italia, through Dalmatia, Macedon, and Thrace, before taking a series of ferries across the short channel into Asia Minor. From there they would make their way across the mountains before finally skirting the coast down into Judea. With oxcarts only averaging, at best, fifteen miles per day, it would be several months before they arrived, barring any unforeseen incidents. Twenty legionaries had been tasked as armed escorts for the convoy, while carrying a scroll from the senate, ordering urban cohorts to provide additional armed guards in between major cities. Artorius and Diana’s servants, including Proximo and Nathaniel, travelled this way with only a single maidservant accompanying Diana. Artorius’ callous remark was simply made in exasperation.

  “I certainly won’t be besting my former time for crossing the Mediterranean,” Stoppello said with disappointment. “We once made the journey in less than nine days, though I suppose the gods do have a say in what conditions we set sail under.”

  “What about our other ship?” Artorius asked.

  “No one in Cnossus has seen her,” Hansi answered.

  “So provided she wasn’t torn to pieces in the storm,” Stoppello added, “she should be arriving in Caesarea any time now.”

  Chapter XII: Black Devil Ship

  ***

  Days passed, and boredom was once again becoming the most arduous enemy for the legionaries aboard the ship. At one point the sailing master had pointed off to the north, noting they were passing south of the Isle of Rhodes, where many years before Tiberius had been sent after a bitter quarrel with the Emperor Augustus. But as the island was far in the distance, all anyone could actually see were the endless waters. It baffled the legionaries that the sailors could even know exactly where they were. The tedious task of manning the oars, even if for just a couple hours per day, proved more monotonous than when they were lounging on the upper deck. The dull tedium soon turned to heightened awareness early in the afternoon of the third day as a sailor high up on the mast called down a dire warning.

  “Ship approaching, sir!” he shouted. “They’re heading straight for us!”

&nb
sp; “A relief, perhaps?” Stoppello asked. “Someone from Caesarea may be searching for us.”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” the sailor replied, his face full of alarm. “She looks to be armed, but that’s no Roman Navy vessel.”

  “Damn it all,” Stoppello swore under his breath. “Fucking pirates!”

  “Pirates?” Artorius asked, having rushed over upon hearing the warning. “I thought Pompey Magnus wiped them out over a hundred years ago.”

  “A menace like this can never be truly exterminated,” the commander replied through gritted teeth. “He may have destroyed their strongholds, but there are still renegades that prey on ships. We have no heavy armament, and there is no way we can outrun them, not without a main sail.”

  “Who says we have to?” Artorius mused. “You forget there are a hundred and sixty legionaries on board. Our main sails are gone, so they have no idea that this is a military vessel. What say we lay a little surprise for them?” His cocked grin reassured Stoppello.

  “Alright,” he replied. “We’ll allow them to dock. Once your legionaries clear the majority off the deck, my sailors will board their ship and take it.”

  “Right away!” Artorius acknowledged before turning to his task at hand. “Centurion Magnus, Optio Valens! Prepare both centuries for battle!”

  As legionaries donned their armor and strapped on their weapons, Artorius walked to the entrance of his cabin where Lady Diana and her maid servant stood. Though his wife looked steady enough, the slave woman was petrified and cowering in the corner.

  “Stay in there and barricade the door,” Artorius directed.

  Diana nodded and took a deep breath.

  He asked, “Are you armed?”

  Diana threw back her stola, revealing the legionary gladius she kept on her. “They won’t take me without a lot of pain.”

  Artorius then kissed her quickly and returned to his men.

  Once inside the cabin, Diana threw off her stola, preferring her short sleeve tunic and riding breaches. As they stacked chairs and a table against the door, her servant began to tremble uncontrollably.

  “Snap out of it, woman!” Diana scolded, giving her a short slap across the face.

  “I’m s…sorry, my lady,” the slave replied through her tears. “I’m just so frightened what they will do to us. These pirates are soulless beasts.”

  “You just stay behind me,” Diana said, drawing her weapon and taking a moment to marvel at the razor sharp blade. This was not the first time her life had been in grave danger. Unlike the incident when her estate had been overrun by remnants of the Sacrovir Revolt, this time she was prepared. Sweat formed on her brow, and she grabbed her wadded up stola, which she used to wipe off her face. The sound of the enemy ship approaching was growing louder; they were perhaps twenty minutes from boarding. She could her faint shouts of glee as the pirates reckoned they had found easy prey. Though her breath was trembling, she allowed herself a grin as she knew what nasty surprises awaited them.

  “Looks like we’ll finally get a chance to fight together,” Hansi said as he helped his brother strap the belt around his armor.

  “Don’t get careless, brother,” Magnus warned as he slung the baldric to his gladius over his shoulder. He started to don his helmet, then realizing how cumbersome it would be with its large crest, he elected against it. “You can fight with your fists, but your men are not soldiers.”

  “No,” Hansi replied shaking his head, “We’re better suited for this kind of a fight than you. We may only carry bucklers along with our gladii, and we don’t enjoy the protection offered by your armor. By the same token, should you go over the side with all that heavy gear on, you’re fucked!”

  The two brothers gave a short laugh and Hansi smacked Magnus on the shoulder.

  “Just be careful,” Magnus emphasized. “You did your duty to me when we were children, and you carried me again during the storm. Now it is my turn to protect you.”

  “We protect each other, little brother,” Hansi said over his shoulder as he headed below deck.

  In the stairwell leading to the oar decks, the sailing master stood ready with his gladius and buckler. He carried Commander Stoppello’s weapons as well, knowing that his captain had to maintain the appearance of them being an unarmed merchant vessel for as long as possible while waiting for the pirates to board. He looked over his shoulder and saw young Alaric behind him. The lad was sweating profusely.

  “You alright?” he asked casually.

  “Y…yes,” the German said before swallowing hard. “Just a little nervous.”

  “So am I,” Hansi replied. “Don’t worry, we’re in good hands. I may mock my brother, but he is one of the best close combat fighters there is. And whatever rivalry may exist between the services, all sailors will freely admit that legionaries are the most effective killing machines in the world.”

  The Norseman, unaware of his young friend’s past, did not realize the affect his words would have. He was now looking through the half open doorway leading to the main deck and did not see the young man’s reaction.

  Alaric closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. It assailed his very soul that he was about to fight alongside the same soldiers who had annihilated his people. Many of these legionaries came from the Rhine frontier, and for all he knew some of the older ones could very well have taken part in the slaughter. Most of the journey, aside from their interlude in Cnossus, had been spent below deck, lest he have to set eyes on the hated legionaries. The times when soldiers had manned the oars had been particularly maddening for him, as there seemed like there was nowhere for him to run. And now, as if the gods were mocking his pain, he was forced to draw a blade in service to Rome.

  Though the thoughts of fighting beside legionaries were repugnant, he was without choice. The pirates would not care about his past and would kill him as he was worthless as a hostage. And if he refused to fight, the Romans would execute him for cowardice. There was only one path to survival, and it was through the door with a sword in hand.

  On the main deck, a series of large tarps covered the cargo. Hidden beneath them were a hundred and sixty legionaries. None of the men had donned their helmets, for fear they would hang up on the heavy canvas. Each man lay on his shield, with his javelins at his side. It was not the most comfortable position to be in, and they hated not being able to see what was happening. Artorius was at the corner of the left end tarp and was just able to see Commander Stoppello, who would signal when the enemy had boarded the ship. He glanced to his right at Felix, who was deep in thought.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Strange as this may sound,” the tesserarius replied, “I’m actually thankful that Tierney is not on this ship with us.” His common-law wife was prone to horrifying seasickness and had instead volunteered to go with the baggage train. Felix’s request to lead the convoy had been denied with a decanus given the responsibility.

  “Yeah,” was all Artorius could say in reply. He then let out a nervous sigh.

  He knew he’d taught Diana to fight well, but he still loathed the thought of what might happen to his wife should she not be able to fend off potential attackers. Given the location of the cabin, which was forward of where Artorius and his legionaries lay hidden, his instincts told him that Diana would have to fight before the day was over. He then cursed himself for having boarded her up in the first place. “If she dies, it will be because I failed her.”

  “Sir?” Felix asked. Artorius quickly shook his head and composed himself.

  He could see the mass of the enemy ship and was knocked back as the side slammed into their vessel. A pair of massive gangplanks was dropped, with large spikes slamming into the deck, securing the two ships together. He then heard the sound of numerous foot falls as the pirates stormed aboard.

  “What have we got here, then?” one asked aloud. “Looks like a poor merchant vessel has got itself lost; without your main mast, I see. To have survived the storms of th
e sea, just so that Neptune would hand you over to me.” He then laughed maniacally and shouted orders to two of his men, “You two, check the cabin.”

  Artorius almost panicked as he could barely see two burly pirates trying to kick the door open.

  “Here, it’s all blocked off!” one of the men grunted.

  “Then kick harder!” the pirate captain snapped. “Must be something of value hidden in there. And what cargo have you got for us?” The pirate was now standing close to Stoppello.

  “Passengers, mostly,” the commander replied. “Here, I’ll show you.” He started to walk away and quickly signaled to Artorius.

  “Centuries up!” the centurion shouted. His men threw off the tarps and stood ready with their javelins. It was his first time seeing the pirates and he was shocked at just how many there were. He then grimaced, reveling in the look of surprise and fear in their faces. Against a heavily armored force of Rome’s finest, their numbers would mean nothing. “Javelins…throw!”

  With a shout the legionaries unleashed a storm of javelins on their hapless foes, which were but a few feet in front of them. At such close range, the velocity of the pilum inflicted a fearsome toll. Brigands let out cries of anguish as they were ran through, their guts splayed by the tearing of the heavy javelins. A subsequent wave followed, and in a matter of moments, a substantial portion of the entire pirate force lay dead or dying on the deck. One was pinned to the front mast, the javelin running clear through his bowels, which erupted in a torrent of blood and human waste.

  “Gladius…draw!”

  Though they still had the legionaries outnumbered at least two-to-one, the pirates started to flee following the onslaught of javelins and the flash of Roman steel. Artorius’ face had contorted into a demonic scowl of bloodlust and rage. “Advance!”

  It was a scramble for him and his men to get over the rows of tarp-covered crates, However, he was not going to give the enemy any chance of seizing the initiative or escaping. In his peripheral vision he saw Stoppello scramble for the stairway leading below deck. The pirate leader made ready to follow him, when Artorius leapt off a crate and slammed the bottom edge of his shield into the man’s face. The pirate fell to the deck, knocking himself senseless as blood sprayed from his shattered nose and mouth. Artorius quickly sliced the man’s throat open, leaving the body thrashing in shock as death took its grim hold. As he glanced up, his eyes grew wide when he saw the door to the cabin had been forced open. He started towards it when he was assailed by a group of pirates. Felix and a squad of legionaries were immediately at his side, and the battle commenced in earnest.