“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 said 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.