Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (21 page)

Draco shook his head.

“Vitruvius’ history with Sacrovir is all the more reason for him to be seen,” he replied. “Sacrovir’s reaction may allow us to gauge his true intentions.”

“I agree
.” Calvinus nodded. “When we link up with Sacrovir and the rest of the auxiliary forces, I want
all
centurions with me. I have no desire for any type of prolonged meetings with these people. However, we may have to play the gracious host if we are to glean any useful information from them.”

“What say you, Vitruvius?”
Cordus asked. Up to this point, the muscle-bound centurion had been lounging quietly, sipping on wine, and eating beef cutlets that he found to his liking.

He took a long pull of his wine before answering.
“To tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to this,” he replied.  He said no more as he waved a servant over to refill his wine and bring him some more beef.

Sacrovir elected to wear Greek military garb for his meeting with the Romans
. In a show of support, Florus was dressed the same. He watched as the Romans were ushered in. All were centurions, judging by their uniforms and helmets, which each carried underneath his arm. One of the men stood out from the others, though of similar height as his fellows. In addition to being completely bald, he carried a copious amount of extra muscle on his chiseled frame. Sacrovir thought hard about where he had seen the man before, and then it dawned on him. He immediately started to sweat, his blood pressure rising. It was
him
, the man who had humiliated him of front of the entire population of Rome! Sacrovir’s jaw clenched, seething with hatred for a moment.  Then he reached a revelation.  

How convenient that I should use this rebellion as a means of exacting my revenge against Optio Vitruvius!

The lead
centurion interrupted his thoughts. “Commander Sacrovir, I am Calvinus, Centurion Primus Pilus for the Twentieth Legion,” he said, extending his hand.

Sacrovir rose and graciously took it, though his palms were already sweating.

“Centurions Proculus, Agricola, and Cordus are my other
cohort commanders.”

Sacrovir nodded at the other men and took his seat, his eyes never leaving Vitruvius.
“We meet again,
Centurion
Vitruvius?” he asked coolly, but with a respectful air. “That is correct,” the Centurion replied. “It’s been a while, Sacrovir.”

“Indeed it has.”
Being in the same room as this man who had cost him so much was insufferable. Still he persevered to remain cordial. Servants brought in trays bearing wine, ale, and various delicacies. “I do apologize that our last meeting was less than cordial. I admit I have lost many nights’ sleep agonizing over it.”

“I am sure you have,” Vitruvius replied
politely, taking an apple and biting into it.

Both men’s gazes remained fixed on each other in a silent test of wills.

Florus
became uncomfortable and decided to break the silence. “Centurion Calvinus, it is indeed an honor that you have graced us with your presence, not to mention your reinforcements.  However, I feel I must reassure you that your legionaries will not be needed.  Our forces will be more than able to handle these upstarts.” “Of that I have no doubt,” Calvinus replied. “That is why I only brought four cohorts instead of the entire legion.”

“Quite a responsibility for one of common birth,” Florus remarked.
“Does this mean then, that you intend to fall under our command?”

Calvinus smirked at the remark as Cordus choked on his wine.
Even though Sacrovir and Florus were Gallic, they were still Roman citizens, and nobles at that. Therefore, they were in a higher social standing than any of the legionaries present. Though Calvinus remained composed, Draco seethed at the remark.

“Leadership of men in battle is a heavy responsibility, regardless of birth!”
he snapped.

Sacrovir smiled.
Florus was becoming useful after all, getting a rise out of the Romans with his less than concealed insult. By not sending a single tribune or legate with their contingent, the Romans had negated all sense of political superiority and responsibility. He could have taken that as an insult himself, that the only men of rank the Romans had sent were centurions. Instead, he decided he would use it to his advantage.

“We have been tasked with providing support to your forces,” Calvinus
said smoothly. “However, we will still act as an independent force. Our mission is to see to it that this rebellion does not spread further.”

Sacrovir listened, though his eyes never left Vitruvius.
This meeting was a formality, nothing more. He knew the Romans were there to spy on him; hence, his reasoning for sacrificing the Andecavi and the Turani. Their defeat, in front of Roman eyes, would secure for Sacrovir the impression he needed to make. Just then, Taranis entered the room. He wore traditional Gallic garments, loose-fitting trousers and a tunic. He also wore an ornate cavalry sword on his hip.

“Ah
, Taranis, my friend,” Sacrovir announced, standing up, “come, join us! This is Taranis, Chief of the Sequani. He will be leading our forces from the front, when the time comes.”

Taranis forced himself from sneering at the Romans and took a seat
by Sacrovir and Florus. Taranis passionately hated the Romans, never allowing himself to forget the sufferings his people had endured under Caesar. The Romans continued to eat and drink, though all were uncomfortable with the situation. Only Vitruvius seemed to be enjoying himself.

“The Andecavi are by far the lesser threat,” Calvinus asserted.
“I have sent word to Acilius Aviola, Commander of the Eighth Legion’s Eighth Cohort, stationed in Lugdunum. If the Sequani wish, they can link up with him there. The rest of us will mass against the Turani.”

“Yes, I had wondered when we were finally going to get some use out of those Roman troops,” Taranis said
, his voice dripping with disdain. “That cohort has been leeching off the people of Lugdunum for the last three years. I will be glad to finally get some work out of them!”

“Easy there, old friend,” Sacrovir soothed.
“Remember, the Romans are our friends and allies.”

“Not to mention conquerors,” Draco remarked in a low voice.
If the Gauls heard him, they wisely kept their retorts to themselves.

Artorius watched as the auxiliaries conducted drill and maneuvers.
Their weapons and armor varied greatly, though there was some semblance of order. Only a minority was actual auxiliaries, the rest looked to be a mix of gladiators and mercenaries. There was a man dressed in Greek armor, riding a magnificent charger back and forth in front of the formation, shouting orders.

The Roman
cohorts were camped just outside the city walls, with their eastern rampart approximately a quarter mile from the auxiliary camp. Artorius and some of the others had gone over to watch their ‘allies’ and assess them.

“Looks like they’re using a reverse maniple formation,” Valens remarked.
“Look at how they have got their heavy troops out front.” Indeed, the Gauls did seem to be in a basic three-line formation, only they kept their heavy troops in front.

“Quite the array of weapons they have,” Magnus observed.
“They almost look like gladiators.”

“That’s because a large number of them are,” Artorius replied.
“Apparently, Sacrovir has offered these men their freedom if they fight for him.”

“Fight for him, or fight for Rome?”
Gavius asked, raising an eyebrow.

Artorius smirked knowingly
. “Therein lies the great mystery,” he replied.  “On the surface one would think that Sacrovir and Florus are, perhaps, attempting to better their social and political standings by suppressing this revolt.  I’m not so certain.” “I don’t believe it for a second,” Magnus snorted. “The cost is too great for this to be a mere display of fidelity and usefulness. The Emperor may dismiss them completely, saying they were simply doing their duty as citizens. Sacrovir stands to lose a fortune here, whether his gladiators live or die.”

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough what their intentions are,” Artorius
replied. “So those are the legionaries from the Rhine,” Radek snorted.  “They don’t look so intimidating.”

Ellard gazed upon their faux-allies with trepidation.
“Those men conquered the known world.  I hope Sacrovir knows what he’s doing.” “Sacrovir is nothing but a fool, as is that idiot deputy of his, Florus,” Radek retorted. “That Spartan of his is completely mental as well. You, my friend, just need to worry about staying alive through all this.”

“I intend to,” Ellard replied.
“I’ll give them a good enough showing against the Romans, then be done with this affair.”

Artorius was walking the perimeter of their camp that evening when he noticed a young legionary sitting off by himself, gazing at the setting sun. He was going to pay the man no mind when he recognized him as Legionary Felix Spurius of Praxus’ section. The lad had definitely improved his physique since recruit training. His paunch was nearly gone; his arms, chest, and legs filled out with a fair amount of muscle. As Artorius walked over to him, Spurius was immediately on his feet.

“Sergeant Artorius,” he acknowledged.

The
decanus waved him to take his seat.

“Sit down,” he replied.
“I just noticed you were off over here by yourself instead of over at the fires with your section mates.”

“I needed some time by myself,” Spurius replied
. “May I speak frankly?” 

Artorius nodded.

“Tomorrow will be my first action,” the legionary continued.  “I am ashamed to admit this, but I’m afraid.” He closed his eyes, expecting a verbal thrashing from the man who had bludgeoned and chastised him throughout his training. He was perplexed by Artorius’ relaxed demeanor.

“What is it you are afraid of?”
Artorius asked gently.

“
I am afraid of being shown a coward, of not living up to what I promised myself I would do.”

“And what was it you promised yourself?”

“That I would expunge
Spurius
from my name. My name means ‘bastard.’ My father is ashamed of me.”

“And yet your family name
,
Felix,
is a noble name; it means fidelity, and is a name you should be proud of.”

“My father is not proud of me,” Felix
said bitterly. “Indeed, he is a nobleman. His two oldest sons, my brothers, are both patricians with promising careers. He only acknowledges my existence through the persistence of my mother. He signed my letter of introduction to allow me into the legions in order to be rid of me, nothing more.” He was now staring at the ground, his breathing coming hard through his nose as his pent up anger grew.

“What of your brothers?”
Artorius asked.

Felix
shrugged.  “They were kind enough to me. There are vast differences in our ages, so I rarely saw them.” He took a deep breath and let out an audible sigh.

“
Are you are afraid of being killed tomorrow?” Artorius asked, changing the subject.

T
he legionary lowered his eyes and nodded.

Artorius nodded in return
. “So am I.”

Felix
looked up at him surprised. At first he thought he had not heard the decanus correctly.

“I am going to
let you in on a secret,” Artorius said. “
All
of us are afraid, though we do our best not to show it. We wonder if tomorrow our number will come up, will the gods choose to abandon us to butchery and murder. And you know what? It never changes; it never gets any better. No matter how many times I go into battle, it is the same every time. The same terror grips a man,
knowing
that tomorrow he may see his last sunrise, that his will be a battle for survival. Though once the first blow is struck, it all becomes instinctive. Your mind and your body become acutely aware of what they are supposed to do. Being afraid does not make you a coward.  Not doing your duty does.”