“I know that,” Tiberius replied. “Drusus sees it as a means of you consolidating your power and he somehow feels threatened by it.”
“I assure you,” Sejanus persisted, “that if the time comes while I am still in my post I will serve Drusus just as fervently as I serve you.” He was impressed by his own skills of persuasion. Tiberius believed him. All the same, Drusus was becoming more than a mere nuisance. Sejanus knew that should anything befall Tiberius, his own life would probably be forfeit; so deep was Drusus’ hatred towards him. It was now more than just a mere matter of consolidating his rise in power, his family’s very survival would depend upon the removal of Drusus Caesar.
Heracles hated being back at sea once again, though at least now he had some company. He had purchased a handful of other slaves from the mines along with that beast Radek. These particular men had not been prisoners of war; all the same such was their gratitude towards the man who had liberated them that they would follow Heracles into the gates of Hell itself. He contemplated how best they could serve him. Men of such loyalty were not to be expended wastefully; however he knew that his ambitions would involve massive numbers of ‘expendable labor’ as it were.
Slaves, he thought to himself, I need large numbers of slaves. Slave markets were ample in the region so acquisition would be simple enough. It was then that an evil thought struck him; one which would supply him with endless hordes and bring about disruption of the province. Slaves made up a large portion of the population; even the poorest plebeians possessed human property. Most slaves were fairly docile, having been born into their lot in life and they accepted it. Heracles also knew that within the deepest souls of each burned a desire for freedom. He would offer it to them…at a price of course!
Chapter IV: A Sad Journey Home
As the days and weeks rolled by Artorius found that he was growing beyond what he had ever thought possible. His tunics hardly fit anymore; his strength and stamina, which was already savage, were now that of a warhorse. And yet he found himself mentally more relaxed and focused. The gymnasium provided an outlet for his aggression. In his encounters with women he had become more consciously aware of his brutal strength and veracity, and thereby less inclined to try and break them in half, as had been his habit previously. He still had a tendency to bite, though that was more out of habit than anything. He was pondering such conquests when he strolled into the inn where the Principal officers and Centurions were housed. He was there for his monthly meeting with Statorius, the Century’s Tesserarius in charge of the duty rosters and guard details. He was surprised to find Decimus sitting in his chair at the table.
“Decimus, what are you doing here?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” Optio Flaccus interrupted, walking down the hall with a folded note in his hand which he handed to the Decanus.
“What is this?”
“Proculus put out that we need to start rotating the men through on furlough,” Flaccus explained. “And since you and Magnus are both from the Ostia area, you two are going together. There’s a river barge leaving at dawn tomorrow; take it to Massila, where you will catch a transport ship heading to Ostia.”
“Home,” Magnus mused. His pack was laid out on his bed as he stuffed it with everything he wanted to take with him. “How long’s it been?”
“Four years next month,” Artorius replied as he opened his trunk to see what he would need to take with him. There were extra tunics, socks, his razor, hygiene kit, and something he had not expected to find. At the bottom, covered in dust, was a silver medallion on a leather cord. At first he did not know what it was. He grabbed the cord and held the medallion into the light. An image of the goddess Diana was engraved on one side. Artorius let out a sigh and closed his eyes as he remembered where it had come from.
“What’s that then?” Magnus asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“Camilla gave this to me…a long time ago.” Indeed it had been six years since Camilla had given him the medallion. She had made him promise that he would wear it everywhere, to protect him from harm. It was a promise he had not kept. No sooner had he left Ostia that the medallion had ended up in his pack, forgotten. He was amazed that it had not been lost over the years.
“Camilla,” Magnus said, his brow furrowed in contemplation, “isn’t she that sultry twat you so thoroughly violated the last time we were in Rome?” Artorius gave a short laugh.
“That would be her,” he replied. “One of them anyway. She and I grew up together; she promised to wait for me…” his voice trailed off. Without another word, he absentmindedly shoved the medallion into his pack, wrapped up in a pair of his socks.
At length he and Magnus were finished packing. They each strapped on their gladius and belt; armor and helmets would not be needed. Valens and Gavius opened the door to the flat, having just returned from a road repair detail.
“I know you weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to us,” Gavius chided with a grin.
“Shit Gavius, we’re only going to be gone a couple months,” Magnus replied, hefting his pack over his shoulder. “It will probably take a couple weeks to get home, a month of leave, and then probably another couple weeks to get back.”
“At which time I’ll be going on leave myself,” the young legionary replied. “I’ll be going with Legionary Felix.”
“I thought Felix was from Ravenna?” Magnus asked.
“He is,” Artorius replied before Gavius could answer. “But there is nothing there for him; not as long as he has a father who continues to hate him.”
Radek could not believe his ill fortune to still be alive. The socket where his left eye had once been was a putrid mass, the wounds to his back and leg from a Roman lance in a constant state of infection. He did not understand why he was not allowed to die like all the others who had come to the mines with him. Many had been in finer health than he, having not suffered such grievous wounds as his. These had mostly been young men, boys really, whose fathers had refused to pay their ransoms and had left them to die in the mines. And die they did, for not one of them could have fathomed the sheer torments they would be subjected to. His little plaything had not even lasted a few days. Radek had grabbed the boy so he could have his way with him in the dim cavern where they slept, only to find the boy was dead. Such had ruined his day. It was while he mused on his hard bunk that he saw the torches coming down the passage.
“It can’t be time to go back already,” one slave whimpered in the dark. Radek rolled onto his side, away from the torchlight. He was beyond exhausted, his persistent cough continuing to grow worse. The butt of a spear jabbed him in the back, where his wounds from the battle at Augustodunum refused to heal.
“You!” the guard bark, “you’re coming with us.” Radek rolled off the boards and landed roughly on his feet.
“Come to put me out of my misery?” His remark led the guard to rapping him across the face with his spear.
“Move!” As they wandered down the narrow, dark corridor, they came to a place where the passages branched off. Radek instinctively started towards the right-hand passage when the guard jabbed in the back with the spear point.
“Other way,” he snapped, which confused the slave. Radek had only been down that passage once, and that was when he was brought to this accursed place. Slowly he made his way up the passage, his bad leg continuously cramping on him. A short flight of stone steps led to a door where a pair of guards stood posted. One forced open the heavy wooden door where Radek was suddenly blinded by the sunlight. He placed his hand over his face protectively. It had been months since he had last seen the sun and the brightness hurt his eye.