“She is at your disposal.” The praetorian’s remark caught Caligula off guard, and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes were wide once more as he turned and faced Naevius, who was grinning crassly.
“My, but you are ambitious!” Caligula noted. “I think we shall get on famously. Send her to me tonight, and tomorrow we’ll talk.”
Naevius bowed in reply before turning and walking away.
“You know this should have happened three years ago,” Magnus said. “After Braduhenna they needed a number of cohort commanders replaced, and you ought to have been on the short list…especially after holding the line on the right flank!”
Though Artorius and Magnus had debated at length on many nights over his actions during the battle, Artorius did not feel like arguing with his friend at the moment. Many had spoken highly of his century’s actions in standing their ground against overwhelming odds, and yet not once had he ever felt like his actions were in any way heroic.
“Braduhenna was a giant blemish to the entire Rhine Army,” Artorius remarked. “Not to mention there was still residual bad blood from Senator Gallus and his friends, who would have caught word of my being promoted to centurion pilus prior.”
Artorius had risen through the ranks very quickly, achieving the rank of centurion in only ten years. This had required a special dispensation, as he had at the time been three years shy of the minimum age requirement of thirty. His reputation among both his peers and subordinates was one of admiration and mutual respect. Though Artorius was immensely strong and a great close-combat fighter, he never tried to win battles alone. He gave respect to his subordinates and understood that in battle he was but one among many.
His years under the eagle had not been without blemish. Just prior to his promotion he had been court-martialed on the charge of murdering his centurion, a vile and abusive man named Fulvius. Though he was acquitted when it was revealed that the centurion in question had been drunk and assaulted Artorius, along with another soldier, the stigma still carried with him. Some of the men, when talking about usurpers overthrowing kings, would refer to it as ‘the Artorian method of promotion’. Such talk was never spoken in his presence or in front of any officers who could be counted among Artorius’ friends. But like any other foul rumor or insidious talk it spread quickly, and it seemed every soldier within both legions stationed in Cologne had heard or used the term.
That soldiers would jest about such grave matters was accepted as a matter of course. Fighting men have always shared a rather dark sense of humor that more sane people would find perverse and socially unacceptable. For legionaries, it was simply what one did. Still, there had been an even higher price to Artorius than just a few cruel jests; the centurion he had killed had powerful friends, including a few in the senate. Since he had not been convicted of a crime, their influence had determined that at the very least he would stay where he was. In effect, his career was over just as he was on the rise. In the minds of his peers, Artorius should have been one of the strongest candidates for command of the reconstituted Fourth Cohort following the Battle of Braduhenna. As it was, he was not given any consideration and a ranking centurion from Hispania had been given the promotion.
“Well, it looks like your own friends have come through for you,” Magnus observed. “You are fortunate to have a lifelong friendship with Pontius Pilate given his close rapport with the emperor’s right hand.”
“Sejanus,” Artorius muttered. “I despise that man.”
“What do you care?” Magnus retorted.
“You’ve never met him,” Artorius explained. “I have. At Pontius Pilate’s wedding back in Rome, while you were getting piss drunk with the lads, I had to step in and prevent a brawl between Sejanus and Justus Longinus. Were Pilate not Justus’ friend, it could have ended very badly. Pilate not only saved Justus’ career, but possibly his life. The praetorian prefect is not one to let a grudge go easily, and most of his enemies meet an ignominious end.”
“I heard about that,” Magnus remarked. “Still, whatever his personal issues are with Justus, that doesn’t mean you cannot use Pilate’s sway with Sejanus to your advantage. I know you loathe politics, which I have always felt has come as a detriment to your career.”
“I’ve never used patronage to further my career, you know that,” Artorius scoffed. “I have always stood on my own merits, nothing more.”
His friend shrugged. “That’s all well and good,” Magnus agreed. “However, you know as well as I that ability only gets one so far in the legions. Whether we like it or not, politics and patronage will always trump leadership ability. You cannot change that, so you’d best embrace it.”
It was not the answer Pilate was looking for, but it had to suffice. Lamia, the absentee-governor of Syria, had the only legionary forces in the region, yet none of his deputies had so much as paid a visit to Judea since Pilate took office. The pressure was enormous, as Judea was one of the most volatile provinces in the entire Empire. The letter from Sejanus alleviated his constant strain, if only slightly. It would have been simplest for the Emperor to have ordered the Twelfth Legion to detach one of its cohorts as a vexilation in Judea. As it was, they had all clamored so strongly against allowing Pilate any authority over their soldiers that a compromise was reached in that the legionary cohort would be a separate entity from the legions, holding an independent command in Judea.
It would still be at least a couple of months, if not longer, before the soldiers from the western part of the Empire arrived. Lamia and the other legates in the Far East and North Africa had only allowed a minimal number of volunteers from their ranks to join the Judean cohort, and even then it had been very reluctantly. A dispatch from Lamia’s chief tribune bordered on outright hostility as he made it clear that the only reason he was giving Pilate any legionaries at all was because the order had come from Sejanus, and therefore from the emperor.
The one letter he’d received that he got any pleasure in reading came from his old friend and brother-in-law, Artorius. It was very short and to the point as Pilate read the words aloud:
Hail Pontius Pilate!
You will be pleased to know that I am rallying volunteers from the Rhine Legions. Once assembled, we will head to Rome posthaste and then set sail for Judea.
T. Artorius Justus
Centurion Pilus Prior
“Never one to mince words, was he?” Claudia asked as she stepped into her husband’s study.
Pilate looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and gave a tired smile. Though his hairline had started to recede at a young age, in the five years since they came to Judea he’d gone almost completely bald. He swore it was hereditary, but Claudia blamed it on the strain of work. Though now only in his late thirties, there was no mistaking that what hair Pilate did have was almost completely gray.
As Claudia walked behind his desk and kissed him gently on the forehead, he noted the sad air about her.
“You’ve been to the doctor?” he asked.
His wife nodded and took a deep breath before letting out a slow sigh. “Procula’s Curse,” she lamented quietly. “It seems Diana is not the only one of my father’s daughters to be barren.”
Pilate immediately forgot his own concerns, taking Claudia in his arms as he stood and held her close. Claudia laid her head on his chest, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“I am sorry, my love,” she said, her voice shaking. “To think we were betrothed for so long, only to find I cannot fulfill my duty as a Roman woman.” Claudia Procula was only nine years old when she was betrothed to Pontius Pilate, who at the time was a young cavalry officer on the Rhine. That she was so much younger than him had allowed Pilate many years of enjoying a bachelor’s life before he was finally compelled to live up to his obligations. As she had been in her early twenties by this time, Claudia’s father had protested to him vehemently that he’d waited so long. “I suppose you’ll have to divorce me now,” she lamented.